


away with a glory of color went wind and leaves together

by afewreelthoughts



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Diplomacy, King Renly Baratheon, King Robb, M/M, Renly Lives, Robb Lives, Robb Stark is King in the North, Robb Stark is a Gift, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-14
Updated: 2019-04-07
Packaged: 2019-05-06 22:19:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14657376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afewreelthoughts/pseuds/afewreelthoughts
Summary: When Robb Stark travels south to make a peace with King Renly Baratheon, he has no idea what he will find.





	1. Prologue: Catelyn

**Author's Note:**

> *me, before working on this story* An alliance between Renly and Robb would never have worked long-term; what each side wants is incompatible with the other. 
> 
> *a little voice in my head* But what if - hear me out - they had sex about it?
> 
> *me, now much wiser* That is a very good point. 
> 
> All parties are written as adults, which means I’ve upped Robb’s age to 18. The title of the fic comes from Lord Dunsany's novel The King of Elfland's Daughter.
> 
> I own nothing and make no money from this. Everything belongs to George R.R. Martin.

Vultures circled overhead, black shapes in the bright sky above Storm’s End, their flight undisturbed by the wounded men screaming in pain below. They cried out for the Gods, for their mothers, for a maester, for death. All except one. Blood blossomed beneath Stannis’s fingers as he held tight onto his right leg and gritted his teeth so hard he could barely open his mouth. His little brother towered over him in his antlered helm, the sword in his left hand still gleaming silver, untouched by blood. There was something pitiful about it, Catelyn thought, about how he wouldn’t just let himself scream, for the loss of his kingdom, if not for the pain.

“Make up a room for him at Storm’s End," the king said, "and see to it that the maester is summoned after he sees to the dying men.”

Ser Robar Royce bowed his head, and his rainbow cloak billowed out behind him as he walked away.

“You’re going to leave me here?” Stannis managed to say.

The king's helm turned away from his brother, and it did not look back. Three men lifted his wounded brother to his feet and turned towards Storm’s End. The king said nothing until they were long gone. Only then did he draw off his helm, long hair sticking to his forehead. He looked even younger than Robb, a little boy buckled into a man’s armor.

Catelyn knelt in one swift motion, biting back bitter words. If after all of this, he still called Robb a traitor, she did not know if she could contain her fury. _I fought off a shadow born from some dark god; our hopes cannot end here._

Renly tucked his helm beneath his arm and looked down at her. “Lady Stark, I am grateful to you for saving my life. I will make a peace with your son, if he comes south to negotiate it himself. I cannot guarantee that I will meet all of his terms, but I will listen to what he has to say. I have no desire for a war with the North."

“Has one battle quenched your thirst already, Your Grace?” she said.

“The enemy is in King’s Landing, Lady Stark. If your son can prove his loyalty to our cause, I see nothing that should come between us.”

“We have been fighting the Lannisters for months. Your Grace need not doubt his loyalty.”

Renly nodded. Then he looked away from her suddenly, his eye caught by something bloody and shining.

“May I send him a raven, Your Grace? It will take weeks for me to travel to Riverrun myself, and he will want to know that I am returning with good news.”

He did not seem to hear her. He was frozen in fear, not shocked, but like he was about to be ill, like the fear had crept up on him.

She looked in the direction of his gaze and could not make out much beyond a rainbow cloak and a bloody face. She had not watched the battle, but very few people wore cloaks that color, and she had seen the other six alive and well.

“Your Grace?” she said again, raising her voice. “Am I free to go?”

“Yes,” he said and gave her one last, forced smile before he walked over to the body in the rainbow cloak and knelt next to it. 

Catelyn had not been dismissed, but turned away all the same.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb arrives at Renly's camp and realizes the task that is ahead of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy Spotify playlists, this story now has one. Listen [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/ul87r9jbadtazxdqfu9zn1lcm/playlist/39idK6NQOYg8ivXu2pxSey?si=OfhSmRtOTE2wC2tSPrVzlw).

They traveled for weeks with no sign of King Renly’s camp, south and south, until the morning they crested a hill near Tumbleton, and it was upon them, circles and circles of tents green as summer grass rippling out from the castle itself.

Robb began to count them, not sure if he should count the larger tents as two or three…

“They’re all flowers,” Smalljon Umber said, halting his horse next to Robb’s. “You’re a wolf.”

“It’s a lot of flowers,” Robb said. More than he was expecting. More than he had hoped for. More than enough to fear. Robb’s hands tightened on the reins and he heard his mother’s words, as if for the first time.

_“He promised to listen to you,” she had said when they met at Riverrun. “Don’t hope for anything more.”_

_“Isn’t that good news?” Robb had asked. “I sent you south for an alliance, and you’ve returned with one.”_

_“It will be an alliance on_ his terms _, and I cannot tell you what those terms will be.” Her lips became a thin line “I won his gratitude, and perhaps he could be persuaded to offer the North independence, but he_ will _have terms.” ~~~~_

_“I could refuse them?” he had asked._

_“He could crush us if we did.”_

_“But would_ _he?”_

 _She had not answered._  

Robb looked down at Grey Wind. The direwolf’s ears had pricked up, eyes searching the camp, nose in the air. He trotted forward, and Robb followed. They wove through the brightly-color tents, and the closer they drew to the castle, more and more people stopped what they were doing to watch them. Robb determined not to flinch, not to allow the eyes on him to change his expression. He was the King in the North because his people said he was, and if these people here did not believe in him, all would be lost before they even began. 

Robb and his men rode through the center of the camp, people whispering all around them, as though afraid to speak, but unable to stop, crossed the drawbridge into the castle, and dismounted in the courtyard. A squire approached, wearing the black and silver of House Footly, but stopped in his tracks when he saw Grey Wind.

Robb stood up as tall as he could, squared his shoulders, and spoke loudly enough for the entire courtyard to hear. “I’m King Robb Stark, here to meet with King Renly Baratheon. Where might I find him?”

“He’s in the great hall, my lord,” the boy said.

“I think you mean _Your Grace,”_ the Smalljon said from atop his horse.

“King Renly is _Your Grace_ , my lord,” the boy said.

“And Robb here is King in the North.” The Smalljon’s voice boomed across the courtyard, and Robb could feel the tension drawing out between them.

“I’m a king, but not his king,” Robb said to the Smalljon. Demanding allegiance from a squire half his size did not seem particularly heroic, and the yard was almost empty, so there was no one there to hear him being called the wrong title. He held out the reins to the boy. “You will see to my horse,” he said, leaving no room for refusal.

The boy took the reins, his eyes glued to Grey Wind.

“What is that… thing?” he said.

“Grey Wind is my direwolf, and he goes wherever I go,” Robb said and put a hand on Grey Wind’s head almost instinctively.

“He might terrify the ladies,” the squire said. 

Robb thought about Sansa’s wolf, Lady, and about how much she had loved the other wolves as well. Perhaps this squire did not know many ladies. Thinking of Sansa abandoned with the Lannisters made his throat close up, but this was why he was here, to save his people, and his sister was one of them.

“I’ll stay with the wolf here if you’d like, Your Grace,” Wendel Manderly said.

Robb knelt down and looked Grey Wind in the eyes. “Stay here,” he said. He thought most of the time that the wolf could understand more than he let on, but pretended that he couldn’t when it he didn’t want to. Like he was trying to now. Grey Wind stared back at Robb for a long time, as if he didn’t understand what was being asked of him, before he finally gave up and lay down in a huff. 

“Watch him closely,” Robb said to Wendel Manderly.

Once the boy pointed them in the direction of the great hall, Robb set off, ten of his men in tow. He caught sight of one of them loosening his sword in its scabbard. His stomach turned, and he hoped it would not come to blows. Even if they were walking into a trap, it would be a terrible thing to kill a man at dinner.

The doors were wide open, and the great hall spilled over with the most magnificent knights and lords and ladies that Robb had ever seen. Garbed in rich fabrics and bright heraldry, they looked like characters from Sansa’s favorite songs come alive. But no matter where Robb looked, no one in a crown was anywhere to be seen. The only face that stood out from the merriment looked down at Robb from the high table, large sword slung across the back of his chair. The hilt rose above the man’s balding head and sour frown. He looked like he wanted to strike Robb dead.

Robb approached the man, his head held high. “I am King Robb Stark, here to see King Renly Baratheon.”

The man tilted his head to the right. Standing this close to him, Robb noticed the archer of House Tarly emblazoned on his tunic. “The king is with his kingsguard,” Lord Tarly said and pointedly looked away from Robb and his men.

The table where the kingsguard sat was packed on both sides with knights and young lords. The kingsguard themselves, three men in striped rainbow cloaks and the most colorful armor Robb had ever seen, stood out as garish, even in this company, so much so that the other men seemed to blend into each other. One of the others, tall black boot propped up on a chair, seemed to be in the middle of telling a wild story. He wore no cloak or armor or any visible weapon. His green doublet was half unlaced, and a glass of wine in his hand tipped threateningly to one side.

The men laughed at what he said, many too focused on him to notice Robb. One of the kingsguard, a large, ugly man in blue armor, though Robb told himself it was uncharitable to think so, put a hand on the laughing man’s shoulder as he tilted off kilter, perhaps to get his attention, perhaps to hold him upright. 

“Your Grace,” the kingsguard said.

Robb looked at the man in the green doublet, really looked at him, and met his laughing eyes, eyes the same color as King Robert’s when he had visited Winterfell. The candlelight caught on the jewels on his fingers, and Robb dropped to one knee, only then considering the implications of what he had just done.

“There’s no need for any of that here,” King Renly said, his words soft, nearly sliding into one another. “We’re equals, King Robb.”

Robb rose to his feet. Everyone was watching them now.

“It’s good of you to come,” King Renly continued. “I hope your travels were peaceful.”

“They were, Your Grace.” Robb wondered how long they ought to call each other their official titles.

“You and your men should join us. How large of a - large of a group did you come with?”

“Most of them are outside,” Robb said.

“Well they should come in for dinner,” King Renly said. He sat down slowly. “We might not be able to seat everyone in here, but there are places for the rest outside. Lord Tarly?”

Lord Tarly turned to face them, sour even when facing his king.

“Could you see to King Robb’s men?”

“Yes, Your Grace,” he said, barely opening his mouth. He stood, and strapped the giant sword to his waist before walking to the doors of the great hall.

The men cleared a path for Robb to the chair next to King Renly, which was now empty. The king was laughing at something another lord had said and clapping his hands. Robb could not help but think that he didn’t look like a king at all.

“Can we get you some food, Your Grace?” the second member of the kingsguard asked him, a man in red armor.

“I can serve myself,” Robb said, and at that moment, Lord Tarly opened the doors to the great hall and a flash of grey fur darted towards Robb.

Everyone screamed at once. Two members of Renly’s kingsguard drew their swords and vaulted over the table, putting themselves between their king and the direwolf. Grey Wind halted, snarling, the fur on his shoulders standing on end. One man hurled his wine goblet at him, and Grey Wind snapped in his direction.

“It’s a monster!” shouted Randyll Tarly. “Kill it!” He drew his giant sword.

Robb climbed over the table after the kingsguard. “No! Stop! Stop it!”

Everyone saw him now, it was obvious. Not just as a boy in a crown, or as someone who had caught their king’s attention, but as the King in the North. Robb held up his arms, and the hall grew quieter. “This is my direwolf, Grey Wind. He means no harm.” Grey Wind sat at his feet, eyes scanning the crowd. He could only make out a couple voices, and the words _monster_ and _evil_ and _false_. King Renly’s eyes were slightly unfocused, but very, very wide.

“My wolf goes everywhere I go,” Robb continued. He tapped his chest, and Grey Wind stood up, braced his paws on Robb’s chest and licked his cheek. A few people laughed. Grey Wind was not a mummer here to perform for the crowds, but they needed to see that he was tame – or at least tame enough. Robb ruffled his fur, and Grey Wind dropped down to all fours again. “He fights beside me in battle and protects me when I’m sitting at dinner. He’s my kingsguard.”

“I’ve heard the creature rips out the throats of your enemies.” Randyll Tarly advanced on them. “And yet you have it eating out of your hand? Do you expect us to trust you when such a creature is near our king?”

Randyll Tarly lifted his sword again. In a second, it was knocked from his hand and Grey Wind was on top of him, snarling at his throat. The entire hall screamed again.

“No! Grey Wind, no!” Robb yelled.

Grey Wind froze, stepped away, and then trotted back to Robb, still looking over his shoulder at Randyll Tarly.

Every eye that was not glued to Grey Wind was looking at King Renly, wondering what he would do. The king stood up, nearly knocking over someone’s goblet of wine as he did so. He pushed back his chair and walked around the table to where Robb stood.

“His name is Grey Wind?” Renly asked, extending his hand to the wolf.

“He doesn’t like everyone, Your Grace…” Robb said. If Grey Wind bit him, or even growled, they might all be through. _Please please please,_ he thought. _Please be good._

Grey Wind sniffed at the king’s hand… and sneezed.

When the king laughed, his court did as well, but the laughter from the crowd was nervous and brief.

“I think you should apologize, Lord Tarly,” King Renly said.

“To the King in the North? Of course, Your Grace,” Lord Tarly said, though it sounded bitter to Robb.

“To his wolf.”

“Excuse me?”

“I think you should apologize… to Grey Wind,” King Renly said, and he drank from the goblet he still held, a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. Robb wondered for a second if he was the one being mocked instead.

Lord Tarly turned red.

“I’m waiting,” King Renly said.

“Your Grace, that’s not necessary,” Robb said.

“I think it is,” King Renly said. “Lord Tarly tried to kill Grey Wind. He was not threatened, and he decided to kill something he didn’t like.” He looked at Lord Tarly and could not stop grinning. “We’re waiting.”

Lord Tarly’s hands turned into fists at his sides. He gritted his teeth. “I am… sorry… Robb Stark’s wolf,” he said, as though the words pained him. “Now if you would excuse me, _Your Grace_.” He stalked from the hall, and the doors of the great hall slammed behind him. King Renly had already turned back towards the table.

“Perhaps,” Robb said. “Perhaps Grey Wind and I ought to retire for the night. We will stay out in the camp.”

King Renly waved his hand dismissively. “Of course not. You’ll have chambers here.”

Robb wanted to protest, but the king was no longer listening. Robb found himself and Grey Wind and two of his men led to a fine room in the castle. “We’ll stand guard, Your Grace,” Lucas Blackwood said.

“Thank you,” Robb said, though he knew if Renly’s kingsguard wanted to overwhelm them, they easily could.

Inside the room, Grey Wind paced in a circle and curled up, his tail over his face. A few minutes later, a servant delivered a plate of food to their room, and Robb stared at it until the sun set. He barred the door, emptied the plate out of the room’s small window, and lay down on the bed. He fell asleep after a long, long while, his sword clutched in his hand.

*

Robb was summoned to King Renly’s chambers the following morning, and he was not alone when Robb arrived. Sitting next to him was the prettiest girl Robb had ever seen. She held the king’s hand as he rubbed at his eyes with the other. They were speaking too low for Robb to hear.

“…and look, someone is here for you,” the girl said, smiling at Robb.

Renly looked up, a pleasant smile on his face. He ran a hand through his hair, pulling it back into place. “Good morning, Your Grace. I trust you slept well?”

Robb hadn’t. He was in a strange castle, a hot climate, and amongst thousands of people he did not know whether to trust, not least of all Renly himself. He had gone to sleep hungry for fear of poison, which, in light of day, seemed ridiculous. But it was a courteous thing to ask, and it would be courteous to lie in return. “Yes, thank you for asking.”

“Please.” Renly gestured first to the chair across from them and then to the food and water on a side table. “Help yourself.”

“Thank you.” Robb sat down.

“Are you hungry, Your Grace?” the girl asked.

“No,” Robb lied again, “but thank you.”

“May I introduce my wife, Queen Margaery Tyrell,” Renly said.

Robb inclined his head, and his stomach growled.

Margaery reached across Renly’s lap to pluck a couple of grapes from the table. “It’s not poisoned,” she said and ate a grape.

“Margaery!” Renly said.

“That’s what you thought, wasn’t it?”

When she smiled, something inside Robb melted. Robb plucked a grape off of the plate and ate it. He could not be afraid of everything, every glass of wine, every plate of food. Besides, he had guestright here. He picked up another cluster of grapes and bread and a slice of cheese.

“Take the entire plate if you want,” Renly said and smiled. He looked almost sweet. “You really thought the dinner we sent you was poisoned?”

Robb’s hands were full of food and suddenly his mind was empty. He ate another grape.

There were heavy bags under the king’s eyes, which were blue, as Robb had noticed that the night before, but now they were shot through with red.

“I hope you understand,” Renly said, “despite all of last night, that we hope to make a a treaty that everyone will be happy with. I don’t want to be known as the king who split Westeros in two.”

“The North does want independence, Your Grace, and – ”

Renly waved his hand. “Please drop the title. We’re going to spend enough time together that we’ll both soon tire of it.” He cleared his throat. “Last night…” he said slowly and smiled, “did I… make Randyll Tarly apologize to your dog?”

“My wolf. Yes, you did.”

Margaery’s eyes grew wide. “You didn’t say anything about that.”

“I will apologize to him today – publicly.” Renly blinked slowly. “Being a king is about apologizing for things that aren’t your fault, don’t you think?”

Robb, mouth full of bread and cheese, wondered how something he said could be not his fault. “Grey Wind must have felt threatened,” he said when he was finished chewing. “I can usually control him.”

“Of course he did. A man was coming at him with Valyrian steel. Anyone would have felt threatened. And I don’t want him to feel unsafe at all.”

“Why is that?”

“When your sisters came south… they didn’t do well after their wolves were gone.”

Robb’s stomach turned. _Bad things happen when Starks go south_ , his mother had said. _And you’re a Stark just like your father. Take care._

“I know that you don’t trust me.”

“That’s not true.”

He smiled, that same smile Robb had seen the night before, something sparkling in his tired eyes. “You have no reason to, not yet at least.”

“But we hope you will soon,” Margaery said.

“Now,” Renly said, smiling, “I have work I need to get to. My council is meeting this afternoon, and I hope to see you there.”

**

King Renly’s council did not seem capable of, or interested in, discussing anything important. There was food and wine, and several people Robb did not know, and they talked about nothing of consequence for nearly an hour. Renly courteously introduced Robb when everyone had assembled, and then Mace Tyrell began speaking about the latest harvest from Highgarden, and the conversation went so far afield from anything Robb knew that he just sat there, watching and listening. Renly still wasn’t wearing his crown, and Robb wondered why, because he seemed more than comfortable in luxury and basked in the attentions of his council.

Robb observed everyone else at the table as they spoke. Randyll Tarly still had no kind looks for Robb, but perhaps he always looked that angry? Mace Tyrell was fat and smiling, and looked as though he was trying too hard to be cheerful. Ser Robar Royce, commander of the kingsguard, attended in his bright red armor and rainbow cloak. Robb thought the outfit looked even more ridiculous at a council meeting.

“You haven’t spoken in a while, are you well?”

Robb realized that Renly was addressing him. His eyes looked less red, but still exceedingly tired.

“When are you planning on attacking King’s Landing?” Robb said. The words were out of his mouth before he could finish thinking them.

Mace Tyrell set his goblet down with a heavy thud. Randyll Tarly glared at him.

“It’s a reasonable question,” Renly said.

“I don’t think it’s reasonable to ask Your Grace to turn over that information,” Randyll Tarly said.

 _Then why am I here?_   Robb thought.

“Then could we discuss Northern Independence?”

“Independence?” Mace Tyrell said and turned to Renly. “Is that what Catelyn made you promise?”

“No one made me promise anything,” Renly said. “I simply said that I would listen to what the King in the North had to say.” He smiled at Robb. “And I will.”

Robb felt his throat go dry and his mind go blank. He didn’t know the first thing about politics, and probably should have simply stayed quiet for the first few days. That is what his mother would have done. But now he had to say something, and it would have to be the right thing, too.

“My people are fighting a war, Your Grace,” Robb said. “I do not want to be away from them longer than I must. You are going to win the Iron Throne, and I don’t see a reason to delay negotiating the terms of a peace.”

“And we aren’t?” Mace Tyrell said.

“You aren’t what?” Robb asked earnestly.

“We aren’t fighting a war?”

“Well…” Robb looked around at the company gathered around the table. “Are you? This is a war camp, but I see no preparations for battle.”

“I think the people in King’s Landing would disagree.” Mace Tyrell gave him a melancholy smile.

“Ned was right to name you after my brother,” Renly said. “You’re both eager for battle, eager to fight.”

“I am eager to help my people, _Your Grace_ ,” Robb said. “It’s why I agreed to come south.”

Renly’s back straightened. Robb didn’t want to look him in the eye, so he ended up focusing on his smile instead.

“And what it is that your people want?” Renly said, surprisingly gentle.

Independence. They wanted independence. They deserved it because they had been fighting off the Lannisters alone. But if he said that, and then asked for Renly’s aid in ousting Tywin from Harrenhal, he sacrificed that argument. He breathed deeply and tried to remember his mother’s words.

“ _Does he expect me to sit in some tent at Bitterbridge debating the finer points of politics while my men fight?” Robb had said._

_“That may be the best service you can do the North,” his mother had told him._

_“I don’t know how to argue politics!”_

_“You will have to do what all kings must do. You will have to learn.”_

“We wish to govern ourselves, but we don’t want to be at odds with the king on the iron throne,” Robb said, happy with how the words sounded, and hoping they had the substance required.

Mace Tyrell’s face was unreadable, Robar Royce seemed impressed, and Randyll Tarly didn’t like it.

Renly smiled. “I think we can find common ground. We can begin there tomorrow,” he said.

Robb swallowed his disappointment.

As the men dispersed, he addressed the king once more. “I would prefer to dine and spend the night wherever my men are,” he said.

“Of course,” Renly said, but he wasn’t really listening.

***

The tents reserved for Robb’s men were all Tyrell green and flew the Stark banners that they had brought south with them. Robb felt at once warm and welcome, as though he had been away from his people a month, not a day. Grey Wind laid his head in Robb’s lap as they sat in the tent reserved just for him, lit bright with two out of the four bronze braziers within it.

“You’ve heard the story, haven’t you?” Lucas Blackwood said, almost sneering, “of how they won the Battle of Storm’s End?”

“No,” Robb said.

“I’m surprised,” the Smalljon grumbled. “I’d think King Renly would be retelling it every hour.”

“What’s the story?” Robb rubbed Grey Wind’s head and wiped up the rest of his stew with a thick slice of bread.

Lucas Blackwood rolled his eyes. “That Lord Stannis, when he saw that he had lost to the better man, willingly bent the knee, and Good King Renly spared his life.”

“That’s not how my mother told it,” Robb said.

“Cause that’s not what happened,” Wendel Manderly said.

Robb’s mother had assured him that no matter what the Tyrells would say, Stannis had been dragged away in silence, still alive, but a broken man.

“Surprised?” The Smalljon smirked.

Robb was. Somehow the lie sullied what little he knew of Renly. “I suppose he’d have to say something, and Stannis still has the better claim, even if he’s imprisoned in Storm’s End.”

“I don’t care for these southron folk,” the Smalljon grumbled. “The North has been fighting to be free of them all, not just the Lannisters.”

Robb’s stomach sank. “This is King Robert’s brother we’re talking about. My father loved King Robert.”

“Doesn’t mean you have to like this one.”

Grey Wind’s ears pricked up, and Robb heard voices outside of the flap of his tent.

“Come in,” he called.

A kingsguard knight in yellow armor stepped inside, and after him, King Renly. At such close quarters, it became obvious how tall Renly was, and his clung to his long, long legs.

Robb's men went silent, waiting to see what their king would do. “Your Grace, I didn’t expect you,” Robb said and bowed his head.

“I wanted to see how you were all getting along and speak to you free of my council.” He looked around at the other men in the tent.

“Of course,” Robb said. Jon, Lucas, and Wendel all filed out of the tent. The yellow kingsguard followed them out.

“Would you mind if I lit the other fires?” Renly said. “I don’t like the dark.”

“No, not at all.” Robb sat still, one hand on Grey Wind, as the king circled the tent, and the shadows disappeared after him. Robb could smell something sweet as he passed by, the scent of roses, or orange blossoms, or something that people shouldn’t smell like. There was nothing natural about it; there seemed to be very little natural about him.

“I wanted to make sure you felt no ill will after hearing from my council,” Renly smiled. “All fine lords, but a strange group, and they don’t like the idea of giving up even part of part of Westeros.”

“Then why are they on your council?” Robb asked.

“Politics makes strange bedfellows, and I can’t afford to make enemies. It’s all of what Stannis did, and look where it got him.”

Robb is not sure whether to feel flattered or comforted or threatened - or all of it at once.

“I wanted you to know that when I promised to listen to you, I meant it. I know I must not seem honest to you Northerners.”

“That’s…” Robb wanted to say it wasn’t true, but that wouldn't have been honest.

“Your father believed that the man who passes the sentence should carry it out, or some such thing, and that’s not how the court works. And he never liked me.”

Robb stood up, ready to protest that his father had rarely disliked anyone, but Renly met his eyes and looked so sincere that Robb grew quiet.

“I owe your mother my life,” he said.

“What did she do to save you?” Robb asked. “If she’s the reason you’re listening to me at all…”

Renly looked to the side, and watched the flames in one of the braziers like he was afraid they would jump out and scald him. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice unsteady.

Even standing, Robb was still looking up at him. He wanted to lean in closer, like he could offer some comfort or certainty. When Renly looked back at him and smiled, Robb’s face felt hot.

“Good night, Your Grace,” he said.

“Good night,” Robb echoed back to him.

King Renly slipped out into the dark, and Robb listened as he and his kingsguard left and his men settled into their tents.

“So, Grey Wind,” he said, ruffling his wolf’s fur. “Do you believe a word of that?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I have made a small mistake here, i.e. travel times or sigils, feel free to correct it in the comments. I am not the best about Westerosi trivia. Also, yes I have completely avoided mentioning how Catelyn defeated the shadow baby. I don't plan to explain it at any point in this story.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Robb Stark knows nothing.

If he had to talk about the border for another minute longer, Robb thought that his head might explode.

They had begun negotiations with Renly and his council four days ago, when it had seemed like the right choice to begin by discussing where a potential border would lie between the independently-governed North and the rest of Westeros. Renly’s council had talked of nothing else since.

Grey Wind paced back and forth behind Robb and Wendel Manderly, the one other northerner who had accompanied Robb that day. Randyll Tarly watched Grey Wind like a hawk. Not like how a hawk would watch a wolf, but how a hawk would watch something it had some chance of killing.

“The Vale has always lived under the rule of the Iron Throne,” Mace Tyrell was saying.

“So had the North until now,” Wendel Manderly said, more calmly than Robb would have. “Has the Vale offered any support for Your Grace?”

King Renly smiled. “The Vale has offered no help to any side. They’re like the black brothers at the Wall.”

“I have no desire for the Vale to be a part of the North,” Robb said, hoping that no one could hear his frustration in his voice. “And neither do they.” He looked up at King Renly. “I would like to move on, if possible. We have more important issues to discuss.”

Randyll Tarly drummed his fingers on the table. “I’d like to know how this border would be enforced. Will Northmen be stalking the Riverlands with their wild animals?”

 _Only if they are looking for you,_ Robb thought to himself.

“What would you like to discuss?” Renly asked him.

 _Harrenhal,_ he wanted to say. _Tywin Lannister is in Harrenhal, and I am talking about the border._

“All of this will mean nothing if we lose the war,” he said instead.

“We?” Renly said, and though he was smiling, Robb felt that there was something else lurking beneath it, perhaps mockery, perhaps something darker still. Robb could not sort it out, so he looked away.

“We are winning the war,” Randyll Tarly said. “Have you come here to beg our help?”

Robb’s stomach fell. Renly, still wearing that cryptic smile, was looking between Robb and Randyll Tarly. Robb did not know whose side he was on.

“I have come here to join our forces,” Robb said. “To accomplish more than we could on our own.”

“We don’t need your help,” Renly said, and his voice was kind. “I want to work together with the North, Your Grace, but we have an army of 100,000 men. We defeated Stannis, and we will defeat the Lannisters. Your offer is generous, but it’s not needed.”

“No, you don’t,” Robb said, too tired to stop the words.

“What did you say?” Randyll Tarly snapped.

Robb ignored him as best he could and met Renly’s eyes. “You don’t have 100,000 men, Your Grace.”

Renly shrugged. “Perhaps not precisely.”

Mace Tyrell cleared his throat. “Are you saying His Grace is a liar?”

“No,” Robb said.

“We mean no insult,” Wendel Manderly said. “My king has merely made an observation.”

“It’s just that there aren’t 100,000 men here. I’ve heard an alliance with Dorne mentioned, so that is where the numbers would come from,” Robb continued, “but I haven’t seen a single Dornish sigil since coming here.”

The silence was a heavy weight in Robb’s gut.

Mace Tyrell snorted. “The Dornish will join our cause if they know what’s good for them…” and he kept talking, about how the Dornish would be useless in a real battle and something about Oberyn Martell and his eldest son, until his words became nonsense, but somehow, the silence still remained. Robb was only half-listening, because Renly’s eyes kept drifting back to him. Robb wondered if Wendel Manderly also felt like he was being watched… or if it was just him.

“Nevertheless,” said Lady Oakheart, “with or without precisely 100,000 troops, we have an army sufficient to besiege King’s Landing.” Her long silver plait rested on her hands, and her voice seemed to finally quiet Mace Tyrell. “I see no reason to divert our energies to Dorne,” she said. “It may actually prove useful for the Lannisters to think that they are allies.”

“Unless they actually win them to their side, my lady,” Robb said, having forgotten why he had brought up Dorne in the first place. It had nothing to do with ousting Tywin from Harrenhal, and nothing to do with besieging King’s Landing. “If you have no intentions of reaching out to Sunspear, I recommend that you strike the Lannisters now.”

“Why do you say that?” Renly asked.

“The Lannisters must be making a plan for how to deal with you, especially after Stannis was defeated,” he said. “If not for your own good, attack for the good of King’s Landing. How many people might be spared if the siege ended now?”

Lady Oakheart smiled sadly. “Because no one will die if we attack tomorrow?”

“Not the smallfolk!”

“You really mean that?” Renly asked. He was still smiling, the edge of darkness no longer hidden. “Do you think that no one would die without armor and a sword in their hand?”

Robb felt his lips becoming a thin, tense line. Faces from the villages he had passed on his way south appeared in his mind’s eye. They had been thinner, hungrier than he remembered when they first came to the Riverlands. But he did not want to think about that. “You must attack someday, Your Grace,” he said. “Or do you think that, if you just wait long enough, that Joffrey will bow down and welcome you with open arms? Do you think you’ll lose none of your 100,000?”

The corners of Renly’s mouth turned down so slightly that Robb might have imagined it, but he had the distinct feeling that Renly might throw something at him.

“What would you have me do?” Renly said. 

“The Lannisters will let everyone die before they surrender.” _They’ll let Sansa die._ “We must do something!” 

“And what would you have me do?” Renly said again, no judgment, no mockery in his voice.

Robb looked around the table. All eyes were on him.

“I don’t know,” Robb said.

*

Robb spent the rest of that afternoon with his head in his hands and Grey Wind’s chin on his lap, listening to his men, to their questions and concerns, and could offer no good answers. He felt so much like a disappointment that the invitation to dinner, brought by Renly’s purple kingsguard, was more than welcome.

This dinner was even more extravagant than the first one Robb had attended. The dishes were not as elaborate, and wine did not flow quite so freely, but the court compensated for that with every kind of entertainment. House Footly’s fool, a somber-faced man who made a show of his clumsiness, had the men and women in stitches, and was followed by a bard.

Robb was seated next to Queen Margaery. He felt as though he would surely make an even bigger fool of himself in her presence, stumble over his words or his feet, even though he was sitting down. Something about her arrested him. By the time the third song began, he could put words to it: while Renly was trying to be king, she already was a queen.

“I heard that you brought up Dorne in the council meeting,” Queen Margaery said when the singer finished “Flowers of Spring.” Both she and Renly wore their crowns that night, twin circlets of golden roses, hers so delicate it looked as though it were made of real petals and thorns. She looked out over the lower tables, where her husband had wandered off to after he finished eating. Though he didn’t seem to have eaten much all night, his cup was always full.

“I did, Your Grace,” Robb said.

“I’m pleased not everyone knows about Father’s feud with House Martell.”

“A feud?”

“Prince Oberyn wounded my eldest brother in a tourney when I was very young. Father has never forgiven them for it,” Margaery said.

Robb set down his wine. “I understand his anger, but the fate of the world is at stake.”

Margaery shrugged.

“Don’t the King and Queen have more power than their Hand?”

Renly returned to his seat at last, and he moved like his bones were pliable as feathers. “The Tyrells and the Martells hate each other,” he said, waving his empty goblet. “It’s easier to have Dorne on my side without actually asking them to send anyone. The Tyrells and the Martells might tear apart my camp without any help from the Lannisters.”

Robb wondered that, even intoxicated, he spoke so freely about such things in front of his entire court. Not that anyone seemed to be listening.

“If I may ask, then, how do you know that they are on your side?”

“The Martells hate the Lannisters even more, and I have a better relationship with them than Margaery’s father does.”

“My father is even more stubborn than my husband," the queen said.

Renly smiled and kissed her cheek.

“I did not understand all of that this afternoon,” Robb said.

Renly smiled at him, his arm around his wife. “It’s your job to argue on behalf of your people,” he said, words nearly slurring together, “and you will always be welcome in my court... and Grey Wind will be, too.”

The wolf’s ears perked up at the sound of his name, and he sat down, looking up at Renly.

“I haven’t offended your entire council?” Robb asked. _By bringing up the actual war we’re supposed to be fighting._

Renly shrugged. “You’re honest. The North values that.”

“And the South does not?”

The bard finished singing and Renly let go of Margaery long enough to clap heartily.

“My final song is my own composition, dedicated to Her Grace Queen Margaery of the Seven Kingdoms,” the bard called out. Robb noticed another man with an identical harp seated at the lower tables. He was frowning over his ale. Robb imagined he must have been waiting his turn all night.

Margaery inclined her head at the bard who began playing the first notes. “It’s called ‘The Fallen Warrior,’” he said and began:

_He was a man full grown when he fell on the field_

_His face still the face of a boy_

When Robb looked over at King Renly and Queen Margaery, both their faces held twin smiles plastered over pain. The king took the queen’s hand beneath the table, and she held onto it tightly.

The song told the story of the young Warrior, who, when the good of the realm was threatened by a “black-hearted lord,” dove into battle and died in glory. The story was simple, but the song went on and on.

“You’ve heard about Ser Loras?” the man on Robb’s right whispered.

“Of course,” he said. His mother had mentioned him among the fallen at Storm’s End, and every day Robb has been at Tumbleton, someone has blessed his name and wished that he rest in peace.

“His Grace and Lord Tyrell almost fell out over it," the man continued.

“Why? If they both cared for him?” Robb said quietly, darting a glance at king and queen. Neither seemed to hear him, both engrossed in the song, their smiles growing thinner as it continued.

The man leaned closer to Robb. “Mace wanted his son laid to rest at Highgarden, but the king wouldn’t hear of it. He would not have Loras’s bones paraded around the Reach, he said, and demanded that he be buried at Storm’s End. The poor queen had no say in it, the boy was buried by the time she arrived at Storm’s End.”

The bard played his final note, and the queen clapped along with the crowd. The king was gone.

“I am sorry to hear about your brother, Your Majesty,” Robb said, as Queen Margaery wiped away tears. Robb thought of Bran and Rickon at Winterfell, Sansa and Arya in King’s Landing. He seemed to be leaving siblings behind no matter where he went.

“That’s kind of you, Your Grace,” she said. “And you are free to go if you wish to return to your camp. The entertainment is practically through.”

The second bard stood to begin his song. Margaery looked exhausted for a fleeting moment before smiling beatifically once more.

“Is His Grace well?” Robb asked, looking around the great hall for where Renly might have wandered off to.

“He is,” Margaery said, “he’s just tired after a long day.”

Robb knew that was a lie, and for some reason, it bothered him more than any of the other lies he had been told since coming here.

The bard struck up “The Bear and the Maiden Fair,” jarringly cheerful after the song that had come before, but the people seemed to welcome it. Queen Margaery even began to sing along. Robb waited until the song was finished before he left the great hall, Grey Wind at his heels. People stared after them, but Robb did not care anymore.

They came upon the Smalljon pacing and muttering in the corridor around the corner, Wendel Manderly standing next to him in silence.

“My king,” Manderly said when Robb and Grey Wind emerged. “Has he said anything?”

“King Renly?”

“Yes, has he said anything more useful than this afternoon?”

“He gave good reason why he has not asked Dorne for aid,” Robb said. “That is all.”

The Smalljon threw his arms above his head. “Tywin is in the North! Are we meant to wait here on King Renly’s pleasure while he drinks himself into an early grave and does nothing?”

“You can’t be more upset than I am, my lord,” Robb said, though it wasn’t Renly he was frustrated at, but himself. How could he call himself a king if he could not solve this?

The Smalljon shook his head. “Stannis Baratheon could not have lost fairly to a man like that – southron hedonist! Perhaps he looks like a king, but that does not make him one.”

“Say that louder, so his entire court can hear,” Wendel Manderly whispered.

Only then did Robb notice that Grey Wind was not at his feet, but standing instead at the end of the hall.

“Grey Wind!” Robb called. The wolf looked over his shoulder, as though Robb should come after him.

“I will see you both back at our camp,” Robb said to the Smalljon and Manderly, taking any excuse for this conversation to end. He ran down the hall to his wolf, who took off around the corner.

“Grey Wind, stop!” Robb called after him, but Grey Wind ran down three more corridors, turning three more corners and finally halted at the base of a stairwell.

“Where are we going?” Robb asked, as though the wolf would answer. Grey Wind ran up the steps, Robb at his heels, up to the battlements at the top of the castle, the light from torches breaking up the heavy darkness, to where King Renly was sitting between the merlons at the top of the tower, his legs tucked up close to his chest.

Grey Wind grabbed hold of the end of the king's cloak and pulled at it.

Renly looked down at the wolf as though startled from a reverie. "What, are you worried about me?" he asked, climbing down from the wall to ruffle Grey Wind's fur. The wolf sat down, closing his eyes as Renly scratched between his ears. Renly knelt down to bring his face level with Grey Wind's, grinning like an idiot.

"He's a wild animal, you know," Robb said. 

"Oh really," Renly said, looking up at Robb with the same smile he wore at the council meeting, softened by alcohol and torchlight. "He looks like a lapdog to me."

"Grey Wind," Robb said sharply, and his wolf stood up and walked to Robb's side.

"Did he lead you up here?" Renly asked.

"No," Robb said.

"Then what brings you up here? Looking for some peace and quiet? You'll have to look somewhere else, this is my spot." 

"I hope you understand how serious the war is in the North. I cannot be away much longer if we are going to do nothing?"

“And you want my help?” Renly asked.

Robb opened his mouth to say something, anything helpful, but he wasn't given the chance.

"But you _can’t_ ask for my help," Renly said. "Because if you ask for my help, then you’re just a lord begging for aid from his king, and you can’t do that.” He tilted his head to one side, the way the direwolves used to when they were puppies. "So what _are_ you going to do?”

"How diplomatic of you to spell it out like that, _Your Grace_." Robb felt his temper rising.

Renly closed the space between them in three long strides. Robb wondered whether he always wore such sweet-smelling scent.

Robb refused to look up at him. “Don’t you care?” he said.

When Renly spoke, he was slow and careful, as though anger had burned away his intoxication. “I have listened to you, _Your Grace_ , I have welcomed you and your men into my camp, I have asked you what I can do to help. You say _nothing_ and accuse me of not caring?”

Robb was looking directly at Renly's shoulder, where a golden rose held his cloak in place. He did not look up.

"Do you want me to bring my army North without a plan? Is that what you want?" Renly said.

"No," Robb said. "By the end of the week, I will have a plan, or I will go back North."

"Really?" 

The smugness in his voice made Robb finally look up. "Yes, he said. You can trust the word of the King in the North."

"Then I look forward to it," Renly said, and walked back over to the edge of the parapet, where the lights of his camp mingled with the stars.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Robb hears a rumor.

When Robb finally managed to banish all thought of Renly and his council and Dorne, Theon slipped into his mind in their place. Not Theon as Robb had last seen him before he left for Pyke or as he must be now, ruling over Winterfell beneath Bran and Rickon’s mangled corpses, but back when he was six and ten and the worldliest person Robb had ever seen. He and Jon would gather close by the fire in Theon’s rooms and listen to tales of what lay between a woman’s legs, stories that made Robb shiver and blush, stories that he wanted Theon to never stop telling. 

Once he began to think of him, Robb could not stop, memory after memory piling one on top of the other: Theon shooting the wildling and barely saving Bran’s life, Theon jumping naked into the hot springs at Winterfell, Theon laughing and kicking the deserter’s head the day that they found the direwolves. Pure, perfect images of his dear, dear friend the traitor, who had killed Robb’s brothers for a chance at mere glory. All of a sudden, Robb could not stand lying alone in the dark, and he dressed and left his tent, Grey Wind by his side.

The fire outside illuminated the Smalljon and Wendel Manderly, deep in quiet conversation. They stopped speaking immediately when they saw Robb watching them. 

“Your Grace.” Wendel Manderly bent his head.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Robb said.

“Did we wake you?”

“No. I just couldn’t sleep.”

They remained too still and too quiet for Robb’s comfort. He thought they would have invited him to sit with them.

“I am going for a walk to clear my head,” Robb said, ruffling the fur on Grey Wind’s neck.

“Could we speak with you first?” whispered the Smalljon.

Wendel Manderly’s eyes widened. “Not out here.”

“What? What is it?” Robb said. 

“It’s nothing,” said Wendel Manderly.

“It’s something,” said the Smalljon. “We’ve heard – ”

Wendel’s eyes grew eyen wider. “And they’re nothing more than rumors.”

“And now we’ve met him, and I believe them.”

“And we are staying here _at his pleasure_ ,” Wendel practically hissed.

“Should we speak in my tent?” Robb said, knowing that a wall of mere canvas between their conversation and the open night might put them all at ease.

Wendel Manderly entered Robb’s tent, and Jon Umber followed with a torch from the fire and lit one of the braziers. Robb sat on the edge of his bed, Grey Wind seated beside him, and he felt half a king and half a child about to be scolded.

They stood before him, still silent and still unmoving, for a long, uncomfortable moment.

Wendel Manderly cleared his throat. “What do you think of King Renly, Your Grace?”

“What I think of him doesn’t matter,” Robb said, blinking at the light. “We’re here to compel him to recognize the North as an independent kingdom, and end the war, if only we can figure out how to end it… ” Robb drifted off. 

“I meant the king himself. What do you think of him? What kind of man do you think he is?”

Both of them looked at Robb so intently that his mind went blank and all that he could think of was King Renly’s hair, long and dark, and his face, sad beneath his smile, but none of that was important.

“He says he owes his life to my mother, but will not say why. Why are you asking me now?”

Wendel Manderly and the Smalljon looked at each other.

Robb straightened his back. “Your king asked you a question.”

“We’ve heard rumors about him,” Jon Umber said. 

“What kind of rumors?” Robb asked. “And when? Tonight?” Were the king’s own men insulting him behind his back? And did that mean he was untrustworthy – or that they were?  

“They didn’t seem serious, at first,” Wendel Manderly said. “We heard on the ride south that he once spent a year’s worth of taxes on a single doublet.”

“Taxes meant for the throne?”

“Taxes for Storm’s End when he was only a boy.” Wendel Manderly waved his hand dismissively. 

“I heard that he stole from the royal treasury when he was Master of Laws,” the Smalljon said. “He wasn’t a boy then.”

“Who did you hear these things from?”

“Men on the road,” Wendel Manderly said. “We had no reason to trust them.”

“But they we heard something else tonight,” the Smalljon said. 

“What did you hear?” Robb asked, an edge creeping into his voice. “I’ve trusted far worse people, murderers and traitors. King Renly has enemies, and they will say what they have to in order to take him down.”

“They said he killed his own brother to get the throne,” the Smalljon said.

“Stannis?” Robb said. “I thought he was still alive?"

“Robert.”

Robb’s stomach fell.

“He was on that hunt, when King Robert died,” Wendel Manderly said, his eyes very sad. “Evidently Renly kept plying him with wine, and when he went after the boar… it was an accident, but a welcome one, to his brother who wanted the throne.”

Robb’s stomach turned.

“And since this particular story came from inside this camp, I thought – ”

“What am I supposed to do?” Robb snapped. He knew he sounded angry, but he was too tired, his nerves too on edge to soften his voice. “We’re already here, and we need his help to win the war.”

Robb looked down at Grey Wind, as if the wolf would give him an answer. Grey Wind looked up at him with sympathetic eyes and rested his head on Robb’s legs.

Robb cleared his throat. “Thank you for telling me,” he said. “You are dismissed.”

When they left, Robb extinguished the brazier. His sleep was full of restless dreams.

*

At the council meeting the next day, Robb listened to everyone who spoke. He did not know what he was listening for, perhaps some confirmation that someone there knew that they were serving a murderer or some shining display of kindness from the king himself that would put the rumors to bed.

All he saw was more of the same. Lords and ladies arguing with each other and with the arguments Robb had made the day before. Renly was listening, too, only interjecting to make the occasional joke, and those eyes, blue as the waters of the Trident, revealed nothing.

The knight of the kingsguard who wore blue armor attended the meeting as well. The man wasn’t ugly, Robb chided himself, just awkward, and kept looking at Renly like he hung the moon and stars. Robb didn’t know that men were allowed to look at each other like that outside of Dorne.

Perhaps an hour had passed by the time Renly looked up in relief. “Margaery, my dear,” he said and smiled. Robb looked over his shoulder to see her standing in the open doorway. Renly stood and crossed the room to take her in his arms. Robb looked away from them, and saw that the tall kingsguard did as well.

The rest of the council took this as their cue to leave, or at least to openly abandon any talk of politics, as their king and queen walked away, arm-in-arm.

Robb knew that he ought to stay and try to gain the favor of at least one person in this room. He didn’t care for Randyll Tarly, but there were others: Lady Oakheart, Mathis Rowan, and Mace Tyrell… who was speaking just then.

“Loras would hate this,” Mace was saying, “all this waiting. He hated it so much, I half think we staged the tourney at Bitterbridge just for him.”

“I was sorry to hear about your son,” Robb said. “My mother said he was a great warrior.” She had said nothing of the kind, but Mace did not know that.

“You’re kind to say so. Loras was a brave boy,” Mace said, quieter now. “The finest knight in the seven kingdoms.”

Robb doubted that was true, but he had never met Ser Loras, and the way that Mace Tyrell looked at the empty air was how his mother looked at him when she thought he could not see.

“I’m sure he was,” Robb said. 

The rest of the lords remained deep in conversation, and Robb almost sat down with them, when he caught the shape of the tall knight in blue disappearing down the hall. A man so guileless he would not think to hide the desire in his eyes. Robb ran after him.

“Ser,” Robb shouted. “Ser!”

The man did not turn around.

Robb broke into a run, Grey Wind at his heels, and he did not stop until he stood directly in the man’s path. “I’m sorry Ser,” he said, “I don’t know your name.”

The kingsguard looked Robb up and down. “I’m no ‘ser.’”

Robb did not know what to make of that. “Then I apologize again,” he said. “You’re a member of the kingsguard?”

“Yes. Did you not know that?” The knight’s eyes shifted across Robb’s face.

Robb wondered what to ask a man who seemed utterly incapable of guile, but one so devoted to his king that he would most certainly share anything Robb said with Renly himself. _Are you serving a murderer? Do you love him?_

“Were you there at the battle at Storm’s End?” he heard himself say. “I’ve heard so many different versions of the story, I would like to know what really happened.”

“What really happened?” The man furrowed his eyebrows. “Has the king not told you?”

“No, he hasn’t. I’ve heard rumors, stories, hearsay, but I don’t know if any of those stories are true.”

“What happened is we won,” he said. “Fairly and with no tricks and no black magic.”

The man’s final words took Robb by surprise, but they also did not answer his question. “What happened to Stannis?” Robb asked.

“King Renly spared his life,” the knight said and began to walk down the corridor, slowly enough that Robb and Grey Wind could keep pace with his strides. “It was a great kindness, after what Stannis did to him…”

They walked in silence for a moment. “What did Stannis do?” Robb eventually asked.

“He violated the rules of fair combat. I saw it, and your mother did to.”

Robb felt his ears prick up. “She did not tell me anything about that.”

The tall knight paused. “Then… you should ask the king yourself. I don’t believe I’m at liberty to say.”

 _That’s convenient,_ Robb thought, _Stannis committed some great crime, but he cannot say what. I’m sure if I ask him, Renly won’t say, either._ “What happened to Stannis?” Robb asked.

“He was wounded in the fray, his right leg, if I recall correctly,” the knight said, “and was led to Storm’s End for treatment for his wounds, and…”

And he stopped.

Robb could guess the rest _. It was a great kindness to lock him away in the place that had once been his childhood home…_ and even if it was, the words would sound horribly cruel.

“And?” Robb asked.

“I do not wish to speak ill of the king.”

“Would it be speaking ill of him to recount the events?”

The knight bowed. “May I be dismissed, Your Grace?”

“Was the field muddy?” Robb asked.

“What?”

“If he was wounded, he would not have easily been able to walk. Was he dragged through the mud?”

The knight began to flush, his freckles standing out even more starkly on his pink cheeks. He met Robb’s eyes. “Would that matter?” he said. “Now if you will excuse me, Your Grace.” And he left Robb without another word, his rainbow cloak billowing behind him as he went.

**

“Brienne tells me that you had a lot of questions for her this morning,” Renly asked.

“Brienne?” Robb could not recall having met a lady by that name. After he’d spoken with Renly’s kingsguard, he had sought the safety of his own camp and people he knew he could trust when Margaery had found him and said her family was gathering for wine before dinner, and would he like to join? Her soft curls framed her face, and in that moment Robb could not remember any of the pretty girls he had met on his journey south.

“I’m sorry that I cut today’s meeting short,” she had said.

“You shouldn’t worry. We weren’t doing anything important.”

She smiled. “Renly said the same thing.”

Margaery, Mace, her brother Garlan, his wife Leonette, and Renly had all gathered in one of the finest rooms at Tumbleton, its windows overlooking the godswood. Soft conversation filled the air, and it unsettled Robb far more than it calmed him. Any man entering this room could not have guessed that they were at war, much less than the people in this room were the ones waging it.

Robb looked down at the trees and the garden that surrounded them. Southern godswoods didn’t have heart trees, and they didn’t look right to him, just a tame forest locked away from the outside world.

“Brienne?” Robb asked. “Who is she?”

“Brienne the Blue? The Maid Of Tarth? You haven’t met her?” Renly asked.

“I don’t think so?” Robb thought back to all the ladies he had met here, and he hadn’t spoken to any that day other than Leonette and Margaery.

“Stop teasing him, Renly!” Margaery said, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Brienne is in his kingsguard.”

Robb wondered for another moment if this was just a strange Stormlands’ way of pronouncing Brian before he understood.

Renly must have seen the surprise on his face, because he laughed. “A lady in the kingsguard. Why not, it’s a new century!” His laugh was not mocking, but it sounded distant, as though Brienne was a curiosity from far-off Asshai instead of one of the seven serving him for life.

“Women fight in the North,” Robb said. “It’s not strange to me.” But it was, and his men were not nearly as kind to Lady Mormont as he knew they could be.

“No talk of war!” Mace Tyrell called out, jolly and booming, from the other side of the room. He’d been saying the same words all afternoon. No talk of war. No talk of war. Then why were they gathered here? _What else was there to talk about?_

“Robb wasn’t saying anything, father,” Margaery said, drifting away from them. Renly leaned against the wall, and the angle of his body reminded Robb of Theon. He looked like him, Robb realized, his long dark hair and easy laugh. Robb’s gut sank, and in that moment he believed every single rumor.

“What was it you wanted to know from Brienne?” Renly asked, tilting his head. “She said you seemed upset.”

“My men have heard rumors about you,” Robb said.

“Really? What are they saying?” Renly's eyes lit up, as if he were excited to be spoken about at all. The way he leaned against the wall, his back to his family, Robb felt like they were exchanging secrets.

Robb whispered, “That you’re a murderer and a traitor.”

Renly spoke quietly and not unkindly. “The Lannisters said the same things about your father, before they chopped off his head.”

“Don’t talk about my father,” Robb said, before he could think to stop himself. “He died trying to save the realm, and you did nothing to help him.”

It was Theon that Robb wanted to hurt, Theon that he wanted to shame, so the words were not fair... but they were all true.

Renly looked more sad than surprised, and he searched Robb’s face, as if Robb was the one with something to hide.

Robb reached behind him to grasp the windowsill. He stood before one of the room’s wide windows, and Renly towered above him. Robb had left Grey Wind behind with his men, and only now did he begin to regret it. Renly could push him and call it an accident, just like the Lannisters had done to Bran, just like he had done to his own brother. It wouldn’t take much of a push; Renly was strong enough to pick him clear off his feet. And would any of the others stop him?

“If what I heard is true,” Renly said, “your father died trying to protect his family.” He spoke quietly, steadily. “And if I had not left, I would have died with him.” 

Robb met Renly's deep blue eyes. He wanted to believe him. He wanted to so badly. _But I don't have to_ , he thought for the first time. They wanted the same thing: the Lannisters gone. It did not matter if Renly was a good man or not.  _I would make a pact with the Others to make the Lannisters pay_.

Robb realized he had been holding Renly's gaze all that time. 

“Tell me," Renly asked him, "if the Lannisters started spreading lies about you, what would you say?” 

“It’s not about what you say, it’s about what you do." He took a deep breath. "You need to fight back. Attack King’s Landing. Show them how you deal with liars."

“That’s what you want, isn’t it?” he said. “For us to attack right now?”

“No war talk, Renly!” Mace Tyrell called out. “You promised me one afternoon free of it.”

Renly smiled. “Yes, of course.” He walked away from Robb, a glint in his eyes, as if challenging Robb to defy them.

“What I have to say won't take long,” Robb said, squaring his shoulders. “I have just one question: What do the Dornish want?”

“Vengeance,” Garlan Tyrell said. “For what the Lannisters did to their family.”

 _That's what we all want, it seems,_ Robb thought. 

“If we were to help the Dornish get that, do you think they’d forgive the feud and join us for good?” Margaery asked.

“It is not theirs to forgive us, Margaery,” Mace said bitterly. He narrowed his eyes at Robb. “I had hoped we wouldn’t talk about this today.”

“I could offer them Cersei and Joffrey when they take the capitol, but they didn’t kill Elia Martell," Renly said. "So I don't know what good that would do." 

“No,” Robb said. “They didn't kill Elia. Tywin did.” 

"Yes, but I don't have Tywin Lannister's head," Renly said. 

Robb hoped no one could hear how fast his heart was beating. “What if you could?”

“What?” Mace Tyrell said.

“Send the Martells Tywin Lannister’s head…”

Renly’s eyes fixed on him, almost sparkling. “Go on.”

“Tywin Lannister is at Harrenhal. If we join our troops, we can take him alive. He would be your prisoner to offer to Doran Martell, or to do whatever else you like with him. Do you think Dorne would join the war then?”

“They might actually agree to that,” he said.

Robb took a deep breath. “When they do, my forces will come south to besiege King’s Landing with yours. I want to see the Lannisters pay. And in exchange, you will grant the North full independence."

All eyes turned from Robb back to Renly.

Renly met his eyes. “I will,” he said.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot thickens... I hope...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back after THREE MONTHS... Wow... This one is 5k; I hope that makes up for the delay!

Everything began to move too slow and too fast all at once. Ravens to Sunspear. Ravens to Riverrun. Men gathered to train, drills every morning, every afternoon, every night. The nobles still feasted in the great hall at Tumbleton, and though the food was not as rich, and the wine and ale did not flow as freely, spirits remained high as ever, buoyed up by the promise that something – _something_ – was about to happen.

“I’m sending Randyll Tarly north to meet your men at Harrenhal,” Renly said as they stood on the castle steps, high above the company of men prepared to ride out from the castle. “Prickly as he may be, he does his job well.”

The soldiers stood in row after orderly row, bright banners held high by the wind. If they intended to do harm to the North, Robb doubted he could stop them.

“Are you certain you would rather stay here?” Renly said, echoing Robb’s thoughts precisely.

“Are you trying to get rid of me?” Robb asked.

Renly smiled. “I thought you wanted action.”

“It’s more important for me to be here for the attack on King’s Landing,” Robb said, “in case… something goes wrong at Harrenhal,” and he tried to believe himself. He might have been dooming the North to whatever Renly and the Tyrells had planned by choosing to stay, but if Robb left… he could so easily go back on the promises he had made, and then having Tywin and Harrenhal would mean very little if the North they were still fighting in the king on the Iron Throne.

Robb looked back at Renly as if he had a chance of reading his mind in return. The king looked nothing like Theon in this light. They were both tall and dark and lean, and perhaps Robb had seen something in his smile. Theon’s had always been cocky, barely hiding his anger. Renly’s hid something else, though Robb couldn’t tell what. 

 _You don’t know whether or not he’s a good man,_ Robb told himself every time he caught himself staring. _You cannot trust him._ He reminded himself to hold his tongue, to remember that Renly had his own selfish intentions behind supporting the North, and Robb could not know what they were. All of this should have made Robb want to stay away from him, to take dinner in his tent, and keep a formal distance. But he didn’t. He sat next to King Renly and Queen Margaery every night and something in his stomach clenched tight when he wondered what sorts of impure things they were capable of. 

Some nights, somewhere between sleep and waking, Robb’s mind drifted home to Winterfell, but Renly was there with him, smiling and saying filthy, cruel things, and Robb pushed him in the hot springs, and when he emerged from the water, his clothes clung to his wet skin.

*

The Dornishmen arrived long before Robb had expected them to, a river of copper flowing north through green fields, and the men of the Reach had all risen to greet them, swords loosened in their scabbards.

One man rode alone ahead of the company, his head hidden by a helmet wrapped in a thin, floating cloth. He spared not a glance for the hundreds of Tyrell soldiers staring at him and rode directly to the steps leading up to the castle, where Renly and Robb stood.

He dismounted, removed his helmet, and looked up at them. He did not bow. He did not even incline his head.

“Sorry to say you disappoint me,” the Dornishman said. “I was expecting Tywin Lannister.”

Renly smiled and descended the steps to clasp the Dornishman’s hand. Robb had never seen anyone from Dorne before. This man was tall and slim, with a long pointed nose and long black hair. The sun caught on his scaled armor.

“Tywin should arrive any day now,” Renly was saying, as he led the man up the steps, “We are happy to see you here, Prince Oberyn.”

“And who is this?” the Dornishman said. “The King in the North?”

Prince Oberyn looked Robb up and down, as if appraising him. It was a look Robb was used to; he was not used to the fact that the prince seemed satisfied with what he saw.

“King Robb will join us for the evening meal, if you don’t mind?” Renly said. “I imagine you will want to wash off the dust of the road first?”

“Thank you, _Your Grace_ ,” Oberyn said, and Robb detected a hint of mockery in the title. “It was a long journey, but I came as soon as I heard your summons.”

“There will be rooms for you and whatever officers you wish to stay with you in the castle,” Renly went on, “and there is space for your soldiers to camp near the Northmen.” He turned to Robb. “If that is all right?”

“Yes, of course,” Robb said.

“A good plan. Dorne and the North get on better than Dorne and the Reach ever have,” Prince Oberyn said.

Tumbleton’s steward arrived to see Prince Oberyn to his rooms, and Renly stared after him in something close to wonder. He leaned close to Robb and whispered. “He’s one of the greatest warriors in all of Dorne, Between your army, mine, and his, King’s Landing will fall like a house of playing cards.”

Ser Robar Royce bowed as he approached. “Your Grace, where should I escort his fifty men?”

“Only fifty?” Renly frowned.

“The rest must be arriving soon,” Robb said.

“I imagine they will.” Renly smiled. “They will camp next to King Robb’s troops. Thank you, Ser Robar.”

**

Mace Tyrell was not invited to King Renly’s rooms that evening, and the entire castle heard how much he did not like it.

“My daughter _alone_ with that _snake_ , and my son-in-law says I am not allowed in?” he shouted at poor Ser Emmon Cuy. “Does he not remember who made him king in the first place!”

Robb paused when he rounded the corner, Grey Wind poised behind him. He had never seen Mace Tyrell so angry before, and the sight of the fat, jolly man with his face contorted in rage sent a chill up Robb’s spine.

“Your daughter won’t be alone with Prince Oberyn,” Ser Emmon said. “His Grace will be there, Lady Brienne will be there…” He looked over Mace Tyrell’s shoulder and saw Robb and Grey Wind. “And King Robb with his wolf. Your daughter will be safe. His Grace assured me of it.”

Mace glanced up the hallway to where Robb and Grey Wind stood. The sight of an audience seemed to sober him. “The Viper might poison the food, kill them all,” he muttered as Robb approached.

“And what good would that do him and his fifty men in the middle of your camp?” Robb said. “He’s only answering the summons we sent.”

“I did not think Prince Doran would send _him_ ,” Mace hissed. “And it’s one thing to discuss strategy, it’s quite another to treat with the man over dinner…” He narrowed his eyes at Renly’s closed door. “Keep your eyes open,” he said to Robb before leaving, his newly-minted chain of golden hands clinking as he walked.

Ser Emmon opened the door for Robb, to the sight of Margaery, Garlan, Renly, and Oberyn gathered around a small table, Brienne standing at attention behind them.

Margaery smiled. “Is my father gone?”

“I believe so,” Robb said.

“I must apologize for him again,” she said, sinking back into the chair next to Oberyn’s. “He does not forget any slight, no matter how… slight.” She touched her hair and leaned back, her eyes focused on their visitor.

Oberyn, however, was not looking at her. “That’s a magnificent beast,” he said to Robb, gesturing at Grey Wind. “Do you ride him into battle?”

“No…” Robb said, afraid somehow that he would be disappointing him.

“Some say you do. They say you can’t be killed.”

“Anyone can be killed,” Robb said.

Lady Brienne pulled back the chair to Renly’s right, and Robb sat down, Grey Wind sitting between them.

“You have not introduced me to your kingsguard, King Renly,” Oberyn said.

“Outside is Ser Emmon Cuy,” Renly said, “and this…” he extended a hand in Brienne’s direction without looking at her, “is Lady Brienne of Tarth.”

Oberyn rested his forearms on the table. “If you’re ever in Dorne, I’ll introduce you to my eldest, Obara. I’m sure she would want meet a Northern warrior like you.”

“I… um, th-thank you, Your Highness,” she said and blushed and seemed thankful when Oberyn turned back to Renly.  

“Ser Loras was your Lord Commander?”

“Yes, he was,” Renly said.

“And who is now?”

“Ser Robar Royce.”

“And he is…”

“Loyal,” Renly said.

Oberyn’s smile showed sharp teeth.

They passed the dinner in idle chatter, and none of it mattered. Garlan eventually extricated Margaery from where she seemed enthralled by Oberyn, leaving him alone at the table with the king. Robb rose to bid them goodnight. After he watched the Tyrells leave, Oberyn’s stance changed. He squared his shoulders and planted his feet, no longer playing the part of the sensual Dornishman.

“I hope you will forgive me for waiting for your wife and her flowery brother to leave before getting down to business,” he said, not at all apologetic.

Robb remained quiet, tucked into the shadows at the side of the room alongside Grey Wind.

“I understand,” Renly said. “You have more reason to trust me than any Tyrell.”

Oberyn sat up even straighter. “I was sent to ask what you’re prepared to offer us.”

“I’m offering you Tywin Lannister and a chance to help destroy the rest of his family.”

It sounded so cold spelled out like that, but wasn’t that exactly what Robb had suggested? Wasn’t it exactly what he’d wanted all this time?

“The Lannisters offered to betroth Myrcella to Trystane,” Prince Oberyn said.

“Has your brother taken them up on that offer?”

“No… but he’s considering it.” Oberyn glanced at Robb. “You’ve offered the North independence, haven’t you?”

Renly cleared his throat. “Is independence what Dorne wants?”

“We’d like to know why you’ve offered it to the North.”

“Is that the price of an alliance?” Renly asked, the flickering candles sending shadows across his face.

“I would give you my army for the privilege of separating Tywin Lannister’s head from his shoulders, but I cannot make that decision,” Oberyn said.

“Then may I ask why did your brother sent you?”

“To find out why you are willing to compromise with the North, and hope that perhaps you could be convinced to compromise with us.”

“I _am_ willing to compromise with you, Oberyn. What does your brother want? A betrothal between a member of my family and his? A place on the Small Council?”

“He wants to know why you have allied with the North.”

“Because we want the same things.” Renly smiled at Robb. “Nothing more and nothing less.”

“There are rumors that Lady Catelyn saved your life. Rumors of your brother and… magic?”

Renly’s smile broadened, and it looked false. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“I am offering Tywin as your prisoner out of generosity, Prince Oberyn.”

“I have no ill will against you or any of the Tyrells…” Oberyn said, though the word _Tyrells_ came out sounding bitter. “I will send my brother a raven telling him what we’ve said here today.”

Renly smiled. “Thank you for your honesty. Now it’s been a long day, and I imagine we both need sleep.”

“You’re not wrong,” Oberyn said, standing up smoothly, movements sinuous without being seductive. He glanced once more at Robb and Grey Wind before two of his knights escorted him away.

Renly’s eyes fell when Oberyn left. Robb wondered if he even remembered he were there and cleared his throat.

“We don’t have Dorne, do we?” Renly asked. All of a sudden he looked very small.

“No… I wouldn’t say we do,” said Robb, wondering when they had become _we_.

Renly ran his hands over his face and rubbed his eyes. “The Iron Islands are always in rebellion, the Vale cares only for itself, so with the North gone and Dorne not caring…” He lifted his goblet. “I’ll be King Renly of the Three Kingdoms!”

“Three isn’t bad,” Robb said.

“The boy who played at war and lost it all!”

“You might be King Renly the Generous? King Renly the Liberator?”

Renly rolled his eyes.

“We can’t control the songs that are sung about us after our deaths,” Robb said, “even if we want to.”

The silence between them felt almost comfortable, and it shouldn’t have. Grey Wind sat down next to Robb, as though they were not about to leave, and Robb realized that was true.

“The North declared itself a nation before any of this happened,” Robb said.

“I suppose you did.” Renly half smiled.

“That’s not the reason, though, is it?”

Renly looked up at him.

“It’s the fact that my mother saved your life.”

“It’s been a long day, Robb – ”

“I want to know what she did to save you. I think I have a right to know.”

“You have a _right_ to?”

Robb knew he had crossed a line of civility, but instead of apologizing, he lifted his chin. Standing next to Renly’s chair, Robb towered over him. He wasn’t used to the feeling, but he liked it. He laid one hand on the back of Renly’s chair and the other on the table in front of him. “What is it that you’re not saying? You can trust me.”

Robb would have called the look on Renly’s face insolent, were he not a king. “Do you trust me?”

“What?”

“Do you trust me?”

Robb wanted to say something, to have something, _anything_ to say to that that wasn’t unpleasant or a lie. He didn’t.

Renly smiled again, the gesture a formal dismissal. “Goodnight, Robb Stark.”

***

Robb woke that night to the sound of Grey Wind growling low in his throat, and when he opened his eyes to see nothing but a dark tent, he reached to pat the wolf’s head and his hand flailed in the air for a moment. “Shhh. Go to sleep,” he muttered.

After tossing and turning for what had felt like hours, Robb had _finally_ managed to fall asleep. He knew Grey Wind was just as restless, but that was no reason to wake him up.

Grey Wind growled again. 

Robb reluctantly opened his eyes. Grey Wind stood in front of his bed, his fur bristling. He could just make out the outline of a man seated on the other side of his tent.

“Who’s there?” Robb said quietly, hoping it was only one of his own men that he didn’t immediately recognize in the dark and slowly reaching beneath his pillow for the dagger he kept there.

“A friend,” said the silhouette, its voice high and strange, but still unmistakable a man’s.

Robb grasped the hilt of the dagger. “Have you come here to kill me?” He was awake now, crouched on his bed, every nerve on edge. He knew Grey Wind would pounce the second the man threatened either of them.

Robb heard soft laughter. “No. I’m not here to kill you.”

Robb placed a hand on Grey Wind’s back.

“I’m here to _talk_ with you,” the man said. 

“Who are you and where did you come from?" 

“King’s Landing.”

“Who are you?”

“Like I said. A friend." 

Robb stood slowly, the grass tickling his bare feet. “Let me light a fire.” There were four braziers in the four corners of the tent. One or two would be enough 

“I would prefer not to draw attention to our meeting.”

Robb thought about how this man had silently managed to get past his guards and tightened his hold on his dagger. “And I would prefer to have a light.”

The man leaned back in his chair. “Do as you please, my lord.”

Robb kept his eyes on the shadowy man as he fumbled for the candle beside his bed, then for the flint and steel. He could call for help. He should call for help, shouldn’t he? But he had to know who this man was and what he wanted, and if a fight broke out, he might die before Robb had a chance to find out anything.

He struck the flint and steel together again and again, thinking how long it would take the man to kill both Grey Wind and him when the flame finally lit.

The man’s face flickered into view. Hairless and round, it reminded Robb of an egg.

The man inclined his head. “Thank you for meeting with me, my lord.”

“For the last time: who are you and what do you want?”

“I’m a messenger from King’s Landing, and I am here to advise you.” He spoke softly, as if Robb were a skittish horse.

“To advise me…”

“To you give up your alliance with this traitor.”

Robb took a deep breath. “You’re from the Lannisters. I’m not surprised.”

“You must understand, Robb Stark, I have only your best interests in mind.”

“I’m sure of that.”

“I knew your father." 

Robb wondered why people kept saying that, as if he must be happy to be reminded of his father’s death.

The man continued. “Lord Renly has no right to the throne.”

“King Renly spared Stannis’s life,” Robb said, not sure he believed it. “And Cersei’s children are bastards.”

“Are you certain you believe any of that?” the man said.

“He has promised Northern independence and justice for my father’s death.”

The man smiled again. “Are you certain you believe any of that?" 

“I’m certain that I have no reason to believe or trust you,” Robb said.

The man settled back in his chair, as though he cared not for Grey Wind’s fangs or the dagger in Robb’s hand or the fact that he was currently sitting the middle of two enemy camps. “Even if he means well,” the man said, “and I can’t say that he does, Renly has built a ship on goodwill and empty shows of strength, and the longer people have to see him for what he is, the more it will fall to pieces.”

“And what is he?” Robb asked.

“Ordinary." 

“And you are a man in shadowy robes who had crept into my tent in the middle of the night, allied with my enemies and telling me whom I should and should not trust.” Robb lifted his head and gestured to the flap of the tent with his dagger. “You are dismissed.”

The man stood slowly. “Will nothing convince you?”

“I am a Stark. We keep our promises, and I have promised to finish this war as King Renly’s ally,” Robb said.

“Do you think of your family, Lord Robb?”

He could not forget them. He saw Arya running through the ranks of Tyrell soldiers. Arya Underfoot, they called her. He saw Bran whenever he looked at the walls of Tumbleton, climbing the uneven stones, racing across the roof. He saw Sansa sometimes in Queen Margaery, in the softness of her face when she thought no one was looking.

“I do.”

“You know your sisters are still in the capitol, don’t you?”

Robb swallowed the lump in his throat. What his mother would do, to have her girls back? Would she listen to this man? “King Joffrey will kill them if we march on King’s Landing?”

He could not give up the North for a threat like this. As he realized it, his stomach fell out from under him. _Will they all be taken from me?_ He thought of his brothers, killed by Theon, of his father’s bones, still far from Winterfell. _Will I lose them all?_ _Every last one?_ He thought of the song the bard sang for Ser Loras, how close the queen had been to tears. _Is this what being a king means?_  

“King Joffrey would do what it takes to save his people, to stop the assault of King’s Landing.” The man leaned closer to Robb. “Come with me, leave Lord Renly and his playacting, and negotiate with the true king.”

“You’re mad.”

“I convinced your father to repent his treason for the sake of his family, and he did.” 

“Joffrey killed him all the same.” 

Finally, finally, the man bowed his head and made to leave.

“I’m being generous letting you go alive,” Robb said.

“I understand that.”

“Because we already have prisoners of our own.”

“Who, my lord?” The man paused in the open flap of the tent.

“The Kingslayer.” Robb squared his shoulders. “ _And_ _Tywin Lannister_.”

****

Tywin Lannister’s head was the most gruesome thing Robb had ever seen. Even after the Whispering Wood, even after all the battles to follow, somehow the head, bloody and tarred to keep it from rotting, held aloft in the middle of Renly’s shining camp made Robb want to be sick.

“Your orders were to take him alive, Lord Tarly,” Renly said, keeping his eyes resolutely aimed in the direction of Randyll Tarly and the awful head.

“He would not _be_ taken alive, Your Grace.” Tarly sneered. “He died rather than let himself be captured by the enemy. Nobler than your brother.” 

Robb wondered who else saw the dark look flash across Renly’s face. “Don’t let it rot,” he said. “We have Harrenhal?” 

“It’s yours, Your Grace,” Tarly bowed his head and stowed the head away again.

Robb knew he should have been enthused, exultant that they had taken Harrenhal, and he ought to be more disturbed that Randyll Tarly had not been looking at Robb when he had said, _It’s yours._

Renly turned to Robb, smiling. “Harrenhal is yours… What is it?”

“They have my sisters,” Robb said. “I was hoping that, perhaps, if we had Tywin…” He shook his head. “Joffrey will use them, I know he will.”

“Not if you have the Kingslayer. You do have Jaime, don’t you?

“Yes.”

“Cersei would do a great many things to keep him safe,” Renly said, taking him aside. The crowd that had gathered to see Randyll Tarly’s return began to disperse. “Without Tywin in the picture, it’s Cersei and Tyrion you have to deal with,” he said, “and both of them would do anything for him.” He laid a hand on Robb’s shoulder. “Get him here and soon, show them that he’s alive and well, and she’ll be fine.” 

All the rest of that day, all he could think about was Sansa. Where she was now, how Joffrey was treating her, how happy she would be if they ever saw each other again. He thought of Arya too, but realized as he did that he didn’t know her half as well.

At dinner in the great hall, Renly seemed determined to change Robb’s mood any way possible. He was seated with Renly on his left, Margaery on his right, and at every opportunity, Renly made sure every new dish went to him first, and requested that the bards play Northern songs, but Robb was neither hungry nor in the mood to be entertained. He couldn’t stop the march on King’s Landing, and he couldn’t let Sansa die, and Renly seemed to think it would all be all right. He was a fool.

“Are you not well?” Margaery asked.

Her resemblance to Sansa seemed striking now, from her slender fingers to her small nose to her gentle voice. He hoped they’d have a chance to meet. “I am well, Your Grace, just tired." 

“We shouldn’t keep you,” she said, and craned her head to look at her husband, who was practically howling with laughter at a jester while a page refilled his cup. “Not all of us deal with worry in the same way.”

He smiled at her, what must have been a thin, small smile. “Thank you, Your Grace.”

“Call me Margaery. You call my husband by his first name, why not me as well?”

“I will, Margaery.”

The way she smiled at him made her look even more like his sister, and his chest tightened further. Robb began to leave, and Grey Wind lingered next to Renly’s chair for a moment before Robb called him away.

“You’re leaving?” Renly said.

“Yes.” Robb had hoped to slip out quietly enough not to be noticed.

Renly, now thoroughly drunk, reached out to him, then turned the gesture into a vague wave of his hand. “Sleep well, and try not to worry.”

“I don’t need to be told not to worry, I need to be given a reason not to. But thank you.”

The merriment from the hall had spilled over into the camp, and most of the men were too engrossed in their food, drink, and laughter to pay much of a mind to Robb and Grey Wind. Which is perhaps why they spoke freely enough for Robb to catch a particular exchange.

“It matters who’s doing the fucking,” one man yelled over his companions.

Can you imagine bowing to the king knowing he’d been bent over like a whore?” 

Robb stopped in his tracks. 

The man raised his hands and shrugged. “Now I ain’t saying he has…”

“Ser Loras was a slip of a thing,” another man said. “If anyone was the maid, it must have been him.”

“I don’t think it matters who did the fucking. I don’t like that the king’s hiding things from us.” 

Robb turned on them. “Excuse me, what are you talking about?”

Four faces, clustered close around the fire, all fell at once. “Your Grace,” one of them said and bowed.

Robb pulled himself up to his full height. “What were you talking about just then?”

Every man pointed at his neighbor.

“Well?”

One of them cleared his throat. “It were just somethin’ we heard from Jasper Fossoway.” 

“What exactly did you hear?”

“Th-that…”

One of his companions put him out of his misery. “What he means to say is that we heard, just from other people in the camp, a rumor about King Renly and Ser Loras.”

“And you repeated it without thinking?” Robb said. “You should be ashamed of yourselves." 

“Yes, milord,” one of them said.

“People will say all sorts of things about their enemies,” Robb said. “That doesn’t make them true.”

 *****

Once again, Mace Tyrell was yelling. 

“Your lack of respect, your lack of _common decency_ is what led to this!” 

“And I did this because…” Prince Oberyn asked, casually resting his wrist on the arm of his chair.

“Because you don’t care about the consequences of what you say. You don’t fucking care!”

They were all gathered in what had become the council chamber at Tumbleton: Renly, Mace Tyrell, Randyll Tarly, Prince Oberyn, and Robb.

“I understand that you are upset about this rumor,” Oberyn said, “but I did not start it.”

Renly was holding his head in his hands as if the noise caused him pain. “This smells like Cersei,” he said slowly. “She must be upset that we caught her out in her secret love affair and is throwing the accusation in my face. At least we know she’s afraid.” He rubbed his face. His eyes were bloodshot. “No one will believe it. The public perception of men…” He cringed. “…of men _like that_ doesn’t match what they know of Ser Loras and I. And many more won’t even care. The Lannisters have spread so many rumors. Can’t we let this one go?” 

“Because they are dragging his name through the mud! His and yours.” Mace Tyrell looked close to tears. “If they said that you were lovers and cared for each other, that would be one thing, but they…”

Renly stared at the table, quiet and sullen.

“And they said that Shireen was a bastard.” Prince Oberyn broke the silence. “Gossip from King’s Landing means nothing if you do not let it.”

“We should strike back,” said Randyll Tarly, “with something far worse.”

“Incest is far, far worse, and we didn’t need to make that up,” Renly said. “Thank you, Lord Tarly. Thank you, Prince Oberyn. That will be all.”

They left, and Robb wanted to be dismissed, too. He felt that he had no part in the grief Lord Tyrell and Renly were sharing in.

“What will you do about it?” Robb asked.

Renly sighed. “Acknowledging it would make things worse. Margaery and I should parade around, make a show of how in love we are.”

“May I ask why this rumor is worse than the others? They’ve already called you a murderer.”

“And an embezzler,” Renly said.

“So why this one?”

“It involves Loras. They can say what they like about me, but don’t touch my family.”

Mace Tyrell nodded and he murmured under his breath, something just loud enough for Robb to hear if he was paying attention, but he turned his head away. _What if they won’t accept Jaime?_ He thought for the thousandth time.

“I understand that,” Robb said.

“Of course you do.”

“Which is why we have to get Sansa and Arya,” Robb heard himself saying. “I will not have the Lannisters using my own sisters against me.”

“I don’t know if we can,” Renly muttered.

“What?”

“If they will accept Jaime, sure, then we will have an exchange of prisoners before any fighting takes place. But the Lannisters don’t play fair.”

“Don’t you have any friends in King’s Landing? People who want you to succeed and might…”

“Spirit her away?” He shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“You…” Robb’s stomach flipped. “You have no friends in King’s Landing?”

“No one I would trust with something like this, no.”

“Just last night, you you were cheering me up, telling me that all will be well.”

“And it probably will.” He leaned back in his chair. “They will probably agree to exchange Jaime for Sansa and Arya. This rumor probably won’t hurt me at all. And we will probably win.”

“Last night you never said _probably_.”

“You didn’t seem to like my cheeriness. This is realism.” His bloodshot eyes had a strange glow to them, like a fog had been stripped away and Robb was seeing him for the first time: tired and angry and painfully ordinary.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for war

Their alliance ended the very next day.

Robb, Renly, and their bannermen began the morning discussing the upcoming battle at King’s Landing and they talked for hours…

“Let the siege weaken them,” Mace Tyrell said, not for either the first or the second time.

“The Lannister army is scattered fighting ours,” Wendel Manderly said again. “You don’t want to give them the chance to converge around King’s Landing.”

“Then we attack as soon as we can,” said Randyll Tarly. “I’ve told Your Grace that waiting does us no good.”

“But we want reinforcements from the Stark army to arrive first,” said Lady Oakheart.

 _And I won’t let them fight your war if you don’t know what you’re doing,_ Robb thought to himself.

“May I suggest something, Your Grace?” Robb asked.

“Of course,” Renly said, looking down at the map spread out before them and at the small figurines in the shapes of wolves, roses, stags, and lions positioned to mark the locations of troops.

“The Lannisters have the advantage because they are inside a walled city,” Robb explained, and he wondered if they all would hate him for explaining something so simple. “We ought to lure them outside the walls with just a few thousand troops,” he said, pointing to the relevant parts of the map, “then bring in your fleet on the Blackwater when they’re distracted, and only then do we bring in the rest of our armies and surround them.”

“Whose men will be in the first wave?” Randyll Tarly asked.

“Does it matter?”

“You think I’d sacrifice my brave men for your plan?” Mace Tyrell said, frowning.

 _We could just sacrifice you,_ Robb thought, _and leave the brave ones for last._

“It’s a good idea,” Randyll Tarly grumbled.

“It is,” Renly said, with a smile Robb felt was meant just for him.

“We’ll be the first wave,” the Smalljon said. “My Northmen would be honored.”

“But after what you did in the Whispering Wood.” Randyll Tarly said, “The Lannisters will be expecting a trick.”

“It’s not a trick,” Robb said.

“You won a battle against Tywin by not going to battle against Tywin.”

Mace Tyrell was looking at the map and shaking his head. “They won’t believe it,” he said. “We have amassed the largest army in Westerosi history. They’ll see right through us only sending a few thousand troops to start out with.”

“It’s a good point,” Renly said, his eyes darting across the map with renewed interest.

“Our army is larger than theirs,” Randyll Tarly said. “We won’t lose.”

“Yes, but I’d prefer not to lose half my army in the process.” Renly stretched his arms. “We’ve been at this for too long, let’s take some time and meet again after dinner.”

Robb cleared his throat. “Could we then discuss saving my sisters?”

Renly blinked and frowned. “As part of the war council?”

“It doesn’t need to be right now, but we should – ”

“His Grace is tired,” Lady Oakheart said, “and should be left alone if he wishes.”

“Yes, but later – ”

“Like I said yesterday, I’m not sure we _can_ save them,” Renly said.

“What do you mean?”

Renly sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Mace, would you mind filling Robb in on why that won’t work?”

Mace Tyrell cleared his throat. “Supposing His Grace sends a message to the people he might be able to trust in King’s Landing, and the message reaches the right person, what’s to stop them from thinking it might not be worth the risk? I’m sure both of your sisters are guarded heavily. What if they’re caught trying to escape? Worse things would happen to them than if they simply stayed where they were. And then the Lannisters know we’re planning to attack.”

Robb’s heart was in his stomach. This shouldn’t be making so much sense. “There’s… there’s no one you could trust with this?” He turned to Renly. “No one at all?”

“I have a couple men in mind, but…” He shrugged. “It’s not worth the risk.”

_Not worth the risk?_

“Then we send someone into the city,” Robb said.

“If they were caught, then the Lannisters know where we’re camped and he’d be lucky if they killed him quickly or without trying to get every last bit of information out of him. We could still take volunteers…”

Robb thought back to the bald man in his tent, the man he should have captured, the man who promised him Sansa’s life if he gave up this alliance…

“You’re the king. Order someone to do it.”

One corner of Renly’s mouth curled up. “Is _that_ an order?”

“We can win the battle of King’s Landing easily. Once my army arrives, we don’t need to hold onto Jaime. We can exchange hostages before the battle. You said that that would work.”

“It might.”

Grey Wind growled. Robb realized that everyone else in the room was still sitting and watching him intently.

“Do you not care?” he said.

“Hmm?” Renly was looking at the map.

Robb leaned over the table and braced his hands over Dragonstone and Oldtown. “I asked if you care about rescuing my sisters from the Lannisters?”

Renly’s unfocused eyes glided over the map, and his hands rested idly on the table, as if weighed down with the gold and jewels they carried. Robb felt as though he were invisible.

“ _Look at me_.”

Renly looked up.

“Are my sisters not worth the risk?”

“Jaime’s worth more.”

A chill ran down Robb’s spine. They were the same words he had said to his mother months ago. And they were wrong.

“Then _what are their lives worth_?”

Everyone in the room leaned back in their chairs. Renly only smiled.

“You promised that we would try to exchange hostages, just like you promised Northern independence. I don’t need your permission, Jaime Lannister is _my hostage_ – ”

“I didn’t promise you Northern independence.”

“Yes, you did!” He struck the table. The figures shook. “Lord Tyrell, you were there. You remember?”

Mace Tyrell said nothing.

“You promised…” Robb could feel himself fraying at the edges. “ _You promised me_ …”

Grey Wind growled again, and Randyll Tarly’s hand went to his sword.

“We’ll speak after dinner,” Renly said, rising from his seat. “I’m tired.”

Robb left without a word, Grey Wind following at his heels. He walked through the castle and then the camp without looking back, and did not address his men when they greeted him. He wished there was somewhere more private than the canvas flap of his tent, somewhere he could go somewhere to scream and scream…

“Your Grace?” Wendel Manderly said outside his tent. “Your Grace, may I speak with you?”

“No, not now.”

Robb put his head in his hands. His crown dug into his temples, too heavy. Why had they made it so heavy?

“I’m sure we can make him see reason, Your Grace.”

“Please leave me,” Robb said.

Silence, and then the sound of shuffling outside of his tent. “Of course, Your Grace.”

Robb did not know how long he sat there, but he could not make his mind work. There had to be a way, had to be a way of saving Arya and Sansa and still winning this war. His mother would do anything to save them. Perhaps she should have stayed in the south with Robb. He needed her… needed some help, some guidance, some… thing…

The noises outside his tent grew louder. Robb covered his ears.

“His Grace is not to be disturbed,” he heard Wendel Manderly saying.

“Surely he’ll have a minute?” Renly said.

Robb stood and opened the flap of his tent. “What do you want?”

“May I come in?”

Robb nodded. Here he could say things he could not in front of their council.

Renly ducked into the tent and sat himself in the biggest chair without asking.

Robb cleared his throat, trying to calm himself. “I won’t be treated like this… not after everything I’ve been through for my family and my country. I understand that it may be difficult to rescue Arya and Sansa but – ”

“Oh I didn’t mean any of that,” Renly said. “I was trying to make you angry with me.” He grinned. “It worked.”

Robb stared at him, jaw stupidly slack. All he could say was “ _Why_?”

He smiled again. “We need to get into an even bigger fight, though. You could slap me if you wanted?"

 _“Why?_ What in seven hells _are you doing?”_

Renly stood and whispered, “Making your plan work.”

“What plan?”

“Tricking them.” He looked almost gleeful. Robb wanted to remind him that they were talking about war.

“Why are you whispering?” Robb whispered back.

Renly’s eyes sparkled. “I’ve gathered my most talkative bannermen outside. If they see us fighting, and then you and your men leave for the North…”

“If the Lannisters believe we’re no longer allies,” Robb said, “we can surprise them.”

Renly leaned close to whisper in his ear, so close that his hair ticked Robb’s throat and his breath was warm on Robb’s cheek. “Exactly.”

Robb could feel the space Renly took up around him, the breadth of his shoulders, the height from which he leaned down to put his lips at Robb’s ear, and Robb felt himself leaning in closer.

Robb swallowed. “And my sisters?”

“We’ll find them, I promise.”

“Do you have a plan?”

“No. But I know how much you love them.”

“If they kill them…” The words scorched his throat as Robb spoke. “I don’t know what I would do…” His breaths refused to come evenly.

“We’ll make them pay,” Renly said. “I promise we’ll make them pay…”

A thrill ran down Robb’s spine. They were going to win. They were going to win…

*

Robb threw open his tent and shoved Renly hard. “ _Get out_!”

He stumbled forward as though Robb had nearly pushed him off of his feet.

“I said to leave!” he yelled, immediately fretting that everyone there could see through him. He was no more a mummer than he was a king. “Leave me, _my lord_. You need to know when you’re _not wanted!_ ”

Something flickered in Renly’s eyes that may not have bee

n playacting. “You speak that way to your king?”

“You are not my king! You make promises you do not keep, you string me along with an alliance you never intended to make good on!” Robb desperately wanted to look around at the men, his men and Renly’s, to make sure it was working, but that would give him away for certain.

Renly rolled his eyes. “I’ve promised you nothing,” he said, so certain of himself. Robb was no more a mummer than he was a king, but luckily Renly was enough for both of them.

“You promised me that if I helped you take King’s Landing, you’d grant the North independence.”

Renly looked back and forth at the lords surrounding him until his eyes fixed on Mace Tyrell. “Have I ever said such a thing, my Lord Hand?”

“You have not, Your Grace.”

“Yes! You did!” Robb snapped and pointed at Mace Tyrell. “And you were there!”

Renly laughed, and his men laughed with him.

Robb felt shame flood his cheeks. He knew it was all mummery, but he was angry, and he did not have to hide it anymore.

“I believe everything the Lannisters ever said about you!” he yelled at Renly. “That you’re a liar and a lecher and a murderer! I don’t want an alliance with a man like you.”

Renly looked him up and down and sneered, as though he found Robb’s anger no more than an annoyance. “Leave, then. We don’t need you.” He turned back to his men and lifted his arms “We’ll take King’s Landing all on our own, and the glory will be ours and ours alone.”

They cheered for him. Robb looked around finally and saw Wendel Manderly, mouth drooping along with his moustache, and the Smalljon, hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Your Grace…” Wendel said. “What are we to do?”

“We do what I just said,” Robb told him. “We go North."

**

Robb did not speak of their plan openly. If a spy from King’s Landing could make it into Renly’s camp in the middle of the night, what was to stop him, or anyone else, from coming North? He held conversations about what was really going on amongst only the most trusted members of his battle guard, always in light of day, always far from the rest of his army, and he tried to keep from showing, through his voice or face, that they were speaking about anything special. Wendel Manderly and the rest seemed to understand as well.

The Smalljon did not. He stood with his arms crossed and the largest frown Robb had ever seen on his face. “And you’re sure he was acting?” he said.

“I’m as sure as I can be,” Robb said. “And why would he lie about this? What would happen: we receive word to come south, and find he’s already taken King’s Landing and instead we’ve gone into a trap.”

“Yes. Exactly. Exactly that.”

“He wouldn’t have wanted to keep me in the south for so long if this alliance meant nothing.”

Wendel Manderly cleared his throat. “Or he just wanted to keep you there so he could win you over?”

Dacey Mormont paused from where she had been pacing as a lookout. “Now I wasn’t there for any of this,” she said quietly, “but why’d Lord Ren;y agree to talk to you in the first place if he didn’t trust you?”

“He trusts me,” Robb said.

“He offered the North independence?” she said.

“He said he would, but…”

“What exactly are we to do, Your Grace?” Lucas Blackwood asked.

“We’re gathering our forces and will march south again in a week.”

“Exactly a week?” Dacey asked.

“As long as we can keep this a secret for a few more days, then all will be well.”

The autumn foliage in front of Robb shifted in the light. They were perfectly alone. All was going according to plan, all was…

The leaves shifted again, and he caught sight of a tiny face behind them.

Dacey saw the child as soon as Robb did, and she was chasing after him before Robb could think to ask her to.

“It’s just a little boy,” Robb said, as Dacey picked up the child and returned with him. “I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Doesn’t the spy master of King’s Landing use small children to collect information for him?” Wendel Manderly asked.

“Well we’ll just keep the child here with us,” Robb said.

The boy’s face was smudged with dirt, his hair short and tangled. He didn’t seem to like being held, but he stayed still.

Something about his face, in the dappled light of the forest, reminded Robb… no it was just that he’d been thinking, ever since they left Tumbleton, about Arya and Sansa, Sansa and Arya…

“He said what his name is?” the Smalljon called out to Dacey.

“No, he’s quiet.”

The boy met Robb’s eyes, and Robb felt his stomach fall out from under him. He had to be seeing something wrong. She was in King’s Landing. The bald man had said so… Robb was a foolish boy for even thinking it, but… but then Dacey stepped into a spot of light and Robb ran to her and held snatched his sister from her arms.

Arya started sobbing as soon as she pressed her face against Robb’s shoulder. He rocked her back and forth, cradling her like she was as small as Rickon. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes. “It’s all right. I’m here. I've missed you so much."

***

The camp gathered soap and water and clean clothes so that Princess Arya could have a bath and something new to wear, but even then she looked very little like the sister he had known. It wasn’t the short hair or the boy’s clothes from a Manderly squire – she was thin, and her face was long and humorless. Robb felt desperate to make her smile, a real, uncontrollable smile, but he could not think of anything funny to say.

They had met up with a camp of Stark bannermen on their false journey North, so Robb could offer her a tent and a bed of her own that night. She sat on it now beside Robb, hands buried in Grey Wind’s fur.

“Mother is coming south. She’ll be here any day.”

It was a stupid, obvious thing to say, but Robb could not think of anything else.

Arya smiled a little.

“Don’t you want to see her?”

“I don’t think she’ll want to see me like this,” Arya said.

“Arya? Arya you silly, of course she will.” He kissed the top of her head. “She loves you so much, and she thought she’d never see you again. I thought I’d never see you again.”

He smoothed back her hair. One sister he thought he might never see again. Then if they could rescue Sansa and perhaps he’d seen Jon again someday… but that would be all of them.

“What were you doing at Harrenhal?” Robb asked her. She had given them bits and pieces of her story that afternoon, but seemed reluctant to tell all of it. He wrapped a loose arm around her shoulders.

“I was hiding,” she said. “I… I was going North with Yoren.”

“Who?”

“He recruits for the Night’s Watch. He was going to take me home. But then he died.” She scratched Grey Wind’s head and his mouth lolled open.

“And…?” Robb asked, shaking her shoulders lightly.

“Then were captured by the Lannisters and taken to Harrenhal. I was there when Lord Tarly attacked.”

“Did you try to tell him who you were?”

She sat up straight. “I did! When I heard you were south with King Renly, I told him that I needed to come with. He told me…” She frowned.

“What did he say?”

She lifted her chin almost defiantly. “He said if I was actually a girl, then you would be ashamed of me. He said no lady of noble blood would look how I looked and do what I’d done.”

Robb felt a chill go down his spine. Grey Wind growled.

Arya’s eyes widened.

“It’s all right,” Robb said, patting his wolf’s back. “Grey Wind and Randyll Tarly have… met.”

“What happened?”

She looked so genuinely curious that Robb couldn’t help but grin. “It was when we first arrived in King Renly’s camp. Randyll Tarly drew his sword, and Grey Wind knocked him over. I called Grey Wind back before he did any real damage, but Randyll Tarly wanted him dead. But then King Renly came up to him, and Grey Wind just licked his hand, so it was all fine.” He was telling it like some child’s bedtime story, when he’d been afraid for his life at the time.

“Is he… is he kind to you, the king?”

“Why do you ask? Have you met him before? Was he not kind to you?”

“He laughed the day that Mycah died.”

 _Who is Mycah?_ he wanted to ask, but it was clear that he knew nothing about what Arya’s life had been like since she’d left Winterfell. And how could he? He wondered if he seemed like a stranger to her, in his worn armor and heavy crown.

He ruffled her hair and she smiled again, so small it was barely a smile.

****

Their mother, as Robb had predicted, swept Arya off her feet as soon as she saw her. “Oh my precious little girl,” she said, and Arya’s face lit up.

“Is it true that Lord Renly rescued her from King’s Landing? Her and Sansa?” Catelyn asked.

Arya’s face fell, and Robb’s chest felt tight looking at it.

“No, not yet. Arya rescued herself from Harrenhal.”

“What was she doing in Harrenhal?” Catelyn demanded of Robb, as though it were somehow his fault.

“Arya will tell you herself.”

His mother clung tight to the child in her arms, and Arya looked truly happy again, until Catelyn said, “And Sansa?”

“King Renly assures me that he knows someone who will rescue her.” It was no longer a secret that they were once again marching south.

“And should we trust him?”

“I do,” Robb said. “I’ve trusted him with the battle, I can trust him with this.”

“I don’t imagine you had much of a choice,” she said.

Robb wanted to tell her to stop speaking. _You may never see Sansa again. Renly’s plan might fail. Arya is here now. Pay attention to her. Tell her you love her._

“You should keep Arya here,” Robb said. “I don’t want her anywhere near King’s Landing when we attack.”

Catelyn looked as though she wanted to say something, to speak back, but she did not. And Arya, still held in her arms, too old to be carried around like she had been since she’d returned to her family, did not protest.

“Of course, Your Grace.” His mother bowed her head. Robb hated the feeling it left him with.

*****

King’s Landing looked like the map that had been spread out in the council chamber weeks ago, a small toy castle with infinite moving parts. The tiny banners and the tiny men on horses that held them looked like the figurines they had used to mark the locations of troops, nothing more.

“Waiting for your signal?” Dacey Mormont asked him, pulling her horse up next to Robb’s. The main force of their army remained behind, hidden in the shadow of the many hills that rolled up to King’s Landing.

“There’s no signal,” Robb said. “I’m to watch and decide when the Lannisters seem most confident, and strike then.”

The battle didn’t look dangerous from this distance. Men fell and swords shined dark with blood, but none of it seemed real.

“King Robert trusted your father. Perhaps it runs in the family? That and a thirst for battle.”

“I don’t think King Renly has a thirst for battle.”

“Robert did, and he is Robert’s brother.”

“That means nothing. This is necessary,” Robb said. “We have to attack.”

“I just mean…” Robb had never seen Dacey Mormont so quiet before. Some men felt a fire in their blood before a battle. Perhaps others felt ice.

“Sometimes it’s hard to step out,” she said.

“Out of what?”

“The space other people want you to occupy.”

Robb’s helmet felt heavy on his brows.

She shrugged. “It’s hard not to want to be what other people see in you.”

“I know that,” Robb said.

A spark flashed in the corner of his eye, and then the Blackwater lit up in green flame. Robb’s heart flew into his throat. “Now,” he said. “We attack now.”

******

Robb remembered very little from the battle… bright metal flashing before him, the stench of blood, the sounds of screams, and all around him the feeling of fog, even as the sun shone high above King’s Landing. He was distantly aware of Lannister red and gold falling away beneath his troops, of Grey Wind leaping and snarling around him, tearing with his teeth and claws, until they reached the walls of the city. It was quieter inside, men locked in hand-to-hand combat or running for their lives.

Robb led his guards towards the Red Keep, fighting off the few soldiers who did not flee at the sight of them. One of his guards, then two, fell behinds, and others peeled to follow them. When one man jumped from a tall building to land nearly on top of Robb, Grey Wind tore his throat out before Robb had time to think, and the man’s blood splattered across Robb’s armor. They passed the Sept of Baelor, where his father had died. Robb did not want to look at it, but he did, for what reason he couldn’t tell. His stomach churned as he gazed at the seven tall towers around it. The southern gods had betrayed his family, but hadn’t the Old Gods as well? Bran and Rickon should have been safe in Winterfell.

The city smoldered around them, green flames licking up at the sky, and Robb kept climbing the steps to the Red Keep, not sure what he would find at the top.

Tyrell soldiers swarmed around the castle, armor lit a garish green by the fires that still burned over the Blackwater.

When one of them approached him, Robb shouted over the noise. “Where is the king?”

“We have not seen him, Your Grace,” he yelled back, “He insisted on leading his charge, just as you did.”

Robb hoped that was not completely true. Renly’s antlered helm was a target more than protection.

“And Lady Sansa?”

“She’s safe back at Tumbleton, Your Grace.”

_“Thank the gods.”_

“We’ve won, Your Grace,” the man said as he bowed to Robb. “You’ve saved us all.”

From outside the Red Keep, Robb could look out over the entire city. He heard screams from the city below as soldiers and smallfolk and lords and ladies alike ran through the streets. The glow of wildfire lit the air a terrible, beautiful green, the skeletons of Renly’s fleet sinking beneath the fires on the river.

“I’ve never seen wildfire before,” he said to no one.

“There’s almost no defense to be had against it,” he heard Wendel Manderly saying. “At least they used it on the ships and not on us.”

Robb nodded. He thought he could make out small bodies floating in the water, and it struck him that Renly might be among them.

It wasn’t possible. Even if he were in the thick of the battle, his kingsguard would not allowed him to see any harm if they could help it, and he would not have entered the city on a ship to begin with, would he?

A strange emptiness filled Robb’s stomach, and he looked back at the Red Keep, at the soldiers struggling to break down the doors to the castle. He had felt triumphant at the Whispering Wood, a thrill charging across an open field of battle, but today... This was the same, wasn’t it? This was a necessary war fought for noble causes. There was sorrow to be felt after every battle, and this one was the largest one Robb had ever seen.

He could not tell how long he stood there, Grey Wind sitting calm and quiet at his side. He wanted to see Sansa, to make sure she was all right. He wanted to see Arya again. He wanted to see Bran and Rickon. He wanted his mother. He wanted his father. He wanted to go home.

The sun began to set, and the people of King’s Landing began to emerge from hiding. Robb heard a cheer rising from the darkened streets, and men on horseback began to emerge over the edge of the hill.

Robb did not recognize him at first, armor dented and filthy, and his helm nowhere in sight. He looked as tired as Robb felt, face long and lined in light from the setting sun, and Robb found himself wondering how someone could be so beautiful and so sad all at once. When he lifted his eyes to look over the cheering crowd and smiled, Robb recognized him and the ache in his chest lifted, if only for a moment. The crowd cheered louder, as though their handsome king had been the one responsible for everything that had happened that day and they loved him all the more for it.

When he saw Robb and Grey Wind, Renly’s eyes lit up, and he jumped from his horse. He ran towards Robb, and Grey Wind loped across the yard to meet him, jumping up so his front paws balanced on Renly's shoulders. Robb followed his wolf, aware that everyone was watching them. Renly said nothing when they met, just embraced him, arms wrapping tight around Robb's waist and shoulders. His long hair, now tangled and dirty, brushed against Robb’s cheek.

 _We’ve won_ , was all Robb could think, his heart pounding its own victory march.  _We’ve won..._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> two scenes with bathtubs 
> 
> (different bathtubs, not the same bathtub)

“ _What_ have you _done_ to my _wolf_?!”

Robb Stark stood slack-jawed in the doorway to the royal chambers. All the finely carved furniture had been moved to the sides of the room, and in the center, Grey Wind was sitting in a basin full of soapy water. Renly and Arya knelt on either side of him as Sansa poured clean water over the poor direwolf’s head. When Grey Wind shook it off, they all shrieked with laughter.

"Hello, Robb!" Renly grinned up at him. 

_“What have you done to him?”_

"Grey Wind needed a bath," Arya offered, as though that was helpful information.

"But  _why?"_  

“He’s coming to the coronation, so he should look nice,” said Sansa.  

“He’s not a pet, he’s a wild animal!”

“The wolf doesn’t seem to mind it, sire,” Dacey said from where she was watching at the side of the room. Robb had asked her to watch over Arya and Sansa, and he supposed she was watching – watching over this ridiculousness, but doing nothing to stop it.

Grey Wind’s tongue lolled out of his mouth. He looked happy. So happy that Robb thought for a second that maybe they'd found another direwolf elsewhere and replaced his.

“We could put a ribbon in his hair when he’s clean and dry?” Renly said.

“No!” Robb shouted.

They all laughed again. 

“It’s not nice to make threats,” Robb said. 

“You know I’m all talk,” Renly said, grinning up at him.

Robb felt lightheaded when Renly looked at him like that. “This isn’t a very dignified thing for the king to be doing,” he said. 

“The king is bored.”

Robb turned to Sansa. “You know he’ll roll in mud as soon as we get back on the Kingsroad?”

"Yes, but he'll look nice tomorrow, and that's the important thing!" Sansa said. 

“When are you planning to leave?” Renly asked.  

Grey Wind shook his fur, and Arya and Sansa jumped back, giggling.

His sisters seemed to have been happy these past two weeks. Happier than Robb thought they could be here in King’s Landing. Sansa was quiet much of the time she spent with him, but Queen Margaery had befriended her, and she and Arya seemed closer than ever. Arya, for her part, followed Lady Brienne whenever she had the chance, and the night before had asked their mother if she could be on Robb’s kingsguard.

“No, I don’t think so,” Catelyn had said.

“Not now, when I’m all grown up,” Arya said, as if that was the most important issue.

Catelyn sighed. “You’re engaged to marry Elmar Frey.”

Robb had thought that would be the beginning of a fight, but Arya just looked down at her food and smiled to herself, as though she had a secret.

They should be in Winterfell, Robb knew. It was where the Starks belonged. But the picture in front of him was so sweet that he feared disrupting it, even in the smallest way.

Robb cleared his throat. “We’ll leave sometime in the next few days, after the all-important coronation. The girls will go back to Winterfell, and I will lead a campaign against the Ironborn.” 

“And you’ll have as many troops as you need for that,” Renly said, grabbing hold of a large towel. Arya grasped the other end, and between them, they tried to wrap it around Grey Wind, who decided at that point that he’d had enough, leaped out of the basin, and ran up to Robb, splashing everyone in his path.

Robb scratched behind the direwolf’s ears as Grey Wind left wet paw prints on his trousers. “You poor thing.” 

Renly sighed. “I suppose he’s as clean as he’ll ever get,” he said. “Thank you for your help, your majesties.”

He gave a little bow to Arya and Sansa, who returned the gesture. Arya bent at the waist while Sansa curtsied, then she seemed to notice what she'd done and curtsied as well.

“Dacey,” Robb said, “you can take the girls back to their room to clean up.”  

Dacey bowed and led Sansa and Arya away. As they left, he could hear Sansa begin to say, “I know you don’t want to wear a dress tomorrow, but Queen Margaery found something that maybe…”

Only Renly and Grey Wind were left behind. Robb wondered if he should leave as well, but then Grey Wind found a patch of sunlight on the floor and rolled in it. And Robb couldn’t well leave without his wolf, could he? Who knows what dangerous things the creature could get up to alone?

Renly began to dry himself off using one of the other towels. When Grey Wind had jumped out of the bath, water had soaked the entire front of his shirt, and the towel wasn’t doing much good.

“Why is this coronation so important?” Robb said in order to have something to say. “I thought you're already crowned.” 

“Yes, but that was tucked away in Highgarden in the middle of a war.” Renly rubbed the towel over his chest and arms. His sleeves had been rolled up to his elbows. “This will be in front of every noble family in Westeros and will signal the start of a new era.”

“Like Aegon the Conqueror?” Robb said.

“I suppose so,” Renly said, like he hadn’t thought of that before and liked the idea now that he did. “It's for you, too. People will be looking up at you beside me."

“Beside you?” Robb’s face was warm. “Won’t it be Margaery beside you?” 

It was distracting, how mussed Renly looked, dark hair slicked back, white shirt sticking to his skin. Robb had never seen him like this. In council meetings, over lunches and dinners, even so drunk that he could barely stand, he never had a hair out of place. The only other time he’d looked so disheveled had been when the battle was done, at the gates of the Red Keep.

“Yes, of course she’ll be there, but you’ll be in standing at the front at the ceremony, so everyone can see the new King in the North. Which is why it’s important for Grey Wind to look the part.”

“He wasn’t that dirty, was he?” Robb asked. 

“Yes he was!” Renly said, scrubbing at his hair. “And he wasn’t behaving and wouldn’t listen to me or any of the other servants.” He shrugged. “But he did exactly what your sisters wanted.” 

“I think he missed them,” Robb said, “Arya and Sansa had wolves of their own, once. I think Grey Wind must still remember his brothers and sisters.” From what Sansa told Robb, though, he would never see them again. Just like Robb would not see Bran and Rickon. Robb didn’t want to go back to Winterfell. Not if they couldn’t all be there together.

Renly shifted his weight from one foot to the other but said nothing. His shoulders had grown tense and his smiled faded. If left to his own devices, he’d probably smooth over his discomfort with a joke. Perhaps Robb would be asking for too much, trying to to get closer than he had a right to, but the words fell from his mouth anyway.

“Do you ever miss your brothers?” Robb asked.

Renly lifted an eyebrow. “Which one?”

Robb shrugged. “Either.”

Renly rolled his eyes. “Sometimes. Not right now.” 

“Had you thought…” Robb was not sure he wanted to know the answer, what with how quickly Renly had ordered Cersei put on trial, the trial that had ended with her head on a spike. “Had you thought of what might happen to Stannis later on?”

“What do you mean?” Renly sat down in a large leather chair. He squared his shoulders and spread his knees, as though making himself into a fortress,squaring himself off for battle, the way a soldier bent his knees before rushing at the enemy.

“He can’t stay at Storm’s End forever,” Robb said.

“Why not?” 

“He might escape, his followers might rally around him - ”

“You want me to kill him?”

“No.”

“Then don’t tell me how to deal with my family. I know you’re worried about seeing Theon when you go North, but don’t make your problems into mine.”

Robb shook his head. Renly had changed topic so effortlessly. He decided to speak more plainly. “Had you thought about making up with him?”

Renly bent in half laughing, strident, almost shrill. “Do you hear yourself? Make up with Stannis? He tried to kill me before the battle, and a long stay in Storm’s End won’t have endeared him to me.”

 _He tried to kill me before the battle_. Robb had never heard those words before. “It might?” he said.

“You haven’t met him,” Renly said with an indulgent smile. 

“My father trusted him.” 

“Your father trusted everyone.”

 _He didn’t trust you,_ Robb thought. And why hadn’t he? Had he seen something in this man that Robb hadn’t? 

“Stannis is your family. That means something.”

“Tell _him_ that.” 

“What did he do?” 

Renly watched the sun play over one of the tapestries, a scene of a forest hunt that had been here when they’d taken the palace. Grey Wind lay still but alert, his ears perked up, watching Renly intently. 

“If we had had more time, if the whole camp hadn’t been thrown into chaos…” Renly drifted off. 

Robb took a step closer to him.

“Sparing Stannis in front of everyone might put to rest the rumors that you killed Robert.” 

“I don’t care.” He sounded tired. 

“The rumors that you killed your own brother don’t bother you.”

Renly rolled his eyes. “Because I didn’t _do_ that!”

“As opposed to the rumors about things you _did_ do?”

Something hung in the air between them. Everything was clearer, brighter, even the dust caught in the sunlight. Robb feared he might break this illusion if he spoke.

Renly laughed. He traced a circle on the floor with one of his boots.  “I did spend one year’s worth of taxes on a doublet at Storm’s End. I was fourteen, a trader came from Myr with the finest silks in the world, and it seemed like a wonderful idea at the time.”

“Did the doublet look nice?” 

He grinned. “It looked horrendous.”

“Was that… all?” 

Renly met his eyes. “What do you want to know?”

Robb realized there was only one thing he wanted to know, and he didn’t know how to ask it.

“Ser Loras. Did you…” Robb felt his face flush. He didn’t have the nerve to finish the sentence. 

“I loved him,” Renly said. “I still do.”

He wasn’t smiling. No laughter, no mask, just the warmth in his eyes. 

“Oh,” Robb said.  

Robb remembered of the crude words Theon had used when talking about having his way with one of the boys at Winterfell. 

"Ever wondered what fucking a boy is like?"

“No,” Robb had said, blushing. 

“You just put your cock in his arse,” Theon had said. He had given an utterly wicked grin and winked at Robb. “There’s no shame if you’re the one putting it in.”

Theon’s words didn't seem to fit with the look on Renly's face, the way his body wilted at the sound of Loras’s name. Robb felt a vague sense that he should be looking down on Renly, after all, he'd never heard a word of praise for men who desired each other, but instead he just felt… jealous. Renly had the memory of someone who’d loved him enough to die for him. And all Robb had was Theon. 

Wanting to touch him was like an itch on Robb’s palms, but he was not sure what good reaching out could do.

“I’m sorry he won't be here to see tomorrow,” Robb said, at long last. 

The corners of Renly’s mouth tilted up in the ghost of a smile. “I am, too.”

 

*

 

The paper crackled in Robb’s hand as he climbed the steps to the royal chambers for the second time that day. _He laughed and jested with my sisters as though they were family…_ Robb swallowed his anger as he came to the top of the stairs.

Two members of Renly’s kingsguard stood vigil outside his doors, Lady Brienne and Guyard the Green.

Robb walked straight to the doors, only to have Guyard reach out to stop him.

“I’m here to speak with the king,” Robb said in his most commanding voice.

“Is he expecting you?” Guyard asked.

“He’ll want to see me.”

“King Renly does not wish to be disturbed, and we have orders to let none but the queen past,” Brienne said. “You can speak to him in the morning.”

Robb felt his nostrils flare and a dark look steal over his face. Brienne tensed, but she did not budge.

“Let him know I’m here. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

“You forgot to bring your wolf, King Stark,” Guyard said. “Otherwise you might be able to make good on that threat.”

“I don’t make empty threats, Ser.”

Guyard gripped the hilt of his sword, and Brienne stepped between the two of them.

“We have been charged with the king’s safety, Your Grace, and if Your Grace will permit me to say it,” Brienne said, “Perhaps this can wait until the morning?”

“No. It can’t.” Robb slipped under Brienne’s arm and hammered his fist on the door.

Then there was pressure beneath his arms and around his chest, and he felt himself lifted clear off the ground.

“Let me go!” he shouted as Brienne began to walk towards the stairs, carrying him as though he weighed nothing.

She had only gotten three large steps away when they heard a muffled sound from the other side of the doors.

“Your Grace?” Guyard said, and opened one of the doors an inch.

“Is that Robb?” Renly called. “Let him in.”

Brienne slowly lowered Robb to the ground. “I apologize, Your Grace,” she said. Guyard was biting his lip, trying his best not to laugh. Robb ignored him.

Being given permission ruined the effect of bursting through the doors, but Robb did so anyway. They crashed closed behind him. 

All the braziers burned in the royal chambers, and the room was heavy with their heat. Renly was sitting alone in a brass tub. The sweet smell of the water and the smoke hung over the entire, empty room and the one beyond. They were alone.

“What is this?” Robb smoothed out the paper in his hands and held it up.

“What about it?”Renly asked, about as concerned as if Robb had lost his scabbard or been caught in the rain.

“I’m not signing it.” 

“Not signing what?” 

“ _This_. I’m not signing _this_.” 

Renly sighed and ran a wet cloth along one arm. “I would never have asked you to sign that. That’s a letter, Robb.”

“A letter that shows that you have no intention of granting the North real independence.”  

He smiled. “You really think that? And who gave you this piece of paper?”

“Do you deny it?”

“Deny what?” he asked, laughing. 

Robb narrowed his eyes. “Do you always laugh when you’re uncomfortable?”

“I laugh when things amuse me. Like you barging into my chambers in the middle of my bath and accusing me of… what exactly?”

Robb smoothed out the letter, addressed to his own aunt, Lady Arryn, “With Joffrey the False King defeated, King Renly Baratheon, First of his Name…” Robb skipped all the titles. “…rules from the Iron Throne, and King Robb Stark governs the North. The Vale still owes its fealty to the Iron Throne.”

Renly blinked. “Is that what you’re so upset about? You said you didn’t care about the Vale being part of the North.” He sounded annoyed. “I told my council to send that message because no one from the Vale is coming to the coronation.” 

Robb sighed. “Are there any others?” he asked.

“What?” 

“Are there any other letters like this, declaring what is and what isn’t a part of the North? Sent to any other great lords.”  

Renly scrubbed at the soap still in his hair. “Not that I can recall.”

Robb pulled the second letter from his pocket. “This one is addressed to Hoster Tully, my own grandfather. It’s in your hand, and signed with your seal. It declares that House Tully owes its allegiance to the Iron Throne, not to the North.” 

Robb watched Renly take all of it in, Robb’s face, the paper in his hands. Renly hesitated, his mouth open, as if searching for a lie before he decided that it would do him no good. "I thought that one had already been sent." 

“Riverrun is part of the North.”

“Is half the entire continent part of the North? Is that what you decided?”

“ _I_ decided?! You did this without consulting me!” 

Renly shrugged his shoulders. 

“Do you not care? You think you’re going to get your way in the end, because you always have.”

Renly ducked his head beneath the water, rinsing it clean and reached for a flannel towel, which he used to dry himself, but when Robb expected him to wrap it around his waist, he didn’t, instead draping it across his broad shoulders. Robb was aware of the muscles in his chest and stomach, how long his legs were. Renly wanted him to see all of that, see how strong he was and how little he cared that Robb was looking at him. He probably didn’t want Robb to notice how vulnerable he looked without his armors of either silk or steel.

“Did you not think some compromise would be involved in this treaty?” Renly said. He held the towel up to his long hair, dabbing at it almost absently.

Robb forced himself to look at him, to meet his eyes, even as he felt a blush creep from his chest to his cheeks. “I thought it would be terms we decided on together. I didn’t think you’d go behind my back."

Robb pulled his eyes up from where they had started to travel, following a drop of water from Renly’s collarbone down his side. He didn’t seem to have a single scar.

“I didn’t think it mattered so much to you,” Renly said with a smug smile. He wrapped the towel around his waist. “You’re losing the North, haven’t you heard? Lord fighting lord, the ironborn picking off what they can. You need me. The Riverlands need the protection of the Iron Throne.”

“I can protect them on my own.”

Renly smiled. “Of course you can.”

“I _can_! My people  _asked_ me to lead them. Did anyone ever ask you?”

Robb had crossed a line, he knew it. In his defense, talking to a half-naked man who had betrayed him, he had little chance of knowing where the line of propriety lay. But he had certainly crossed it. 

“People love me,” Renly said, taking one step closer to Robb. “Even you, I think.”

“You… ” Robb wanted to laugh, he wanted to run away or strike him. He was so angry, angry at himself, angry at Theon, angry at the man standing in front of him. Instead he grabbed a hold of the towel at Renly’s waist and pulled it off. “You’re an arrogant fool.” He took a step back and let himself look at all of him. The flush reached the top of his head, but he didn’t care anymore. “And nothing you’ve done today impresses me.”

Robb turned to go and was halfway to the door by the time Renly caught him by the arm. He wasn’t sure who moved first, but in a moment his hands were on Renly’s bare skin, running down his back, and he felt his cloak fall from his shoulders. Renly’s mouth was hot against his cheek, and Robb was harder than he could remember being since coming south. Robb wasn’t sure whether he was moving Renly backwards or being pulled himself, but when they reached a low, flat couch, he pushed Renly’s chest until he lay flat on his back.

Robb tangled his fingers in Renly’s hair, still damp from the bath.

“There’s a perfectly comfortable bed in the next room,” Renly said.

“Is there?”

“Can you stay angry at me for long enough to get there?”

“I don’t care about being comfortable”

Renly grinned. “Of course you don’t.”

Robb tugged his hair harder.

Renly looked stupidly decadent, almost like a feast spread out on the rich, tawny brocade couch, which his wet hair was probably ruining. He didn’t seem at all intimidated by Robb, by the fact that he was still naked and Robb had only just shed his cloak, by the fact that Robb loomed over him, still angry. 

Robb could leave right now, just leave him here. Renly would hate that he wasn’t wanted...

But Robb _did_ want him. He felt ravenous with it.

Trying to remember what Theon had told him, he unlaced the front of his trousers and lay down on top of Renly, who hooked one leg around his waist.

Their bodies rubbed together, and Robb nearly sobbed with the pleasure of it. He could come from just this, but trying to remember what Theon had told him, he pulled away and moved his body further down, angling his hips between his legs…

Renly shoved his shoulders. “What are you doing?”

“I thought that’s what you _did_ ,” Robb said.

Renly pushed him off, and Robb felt his blush begin to return. How was he supposed to know he’d done something wrong? Wasn’t that one thing men did? Isn’t that _the_ thing men did?

Before he could figure out what had happened, Renly was back, his hand spreading something slick over him. Renly’s hand felt different than his own did, bigger, and he moved it slowly.

“There,” he said, and Robb almost whimpered when he stopped. “ _Now_ we can fuck. If you can manage it.”

Robb knocked him backwards, and Renly grinned at him, parting his legs, as if daring him to do it.

Robb braced his hands on either side of his head and pushed inside in one thrust. He gasped from the feeling of it. Gods, he was not going to last long. Renly tipped his head back, and Robb’s hips began to move of their own accord. His hands found their way into Renly’s hair again. It felt silken. Eyes closed, he moved, chasing the sensation of it, until all too soon, he felt himself begin to shake, and he sank his teeth into Renly’s shoulder as he came.

 

**

 

It was a while before he stopped shaking. He lay with his head on Renly’s chest, still and quiet, for a long time. 

Theon hadn’t said a thing about what to do after, and Robb could not think of what to say. How stupid, how _very stupid_ he had just been.

Renly’s hands were a comforting weight, one on his head, stroking his curls, the other on his back. Robb was stupid for getting upset about something he chose to do. Something he had wanted badly to do. His face was scalding hot, and he wondered if Renly could notice, if he was burning him.

“Are you all right?” Renly said.

“Yes.”

He should go. He didn't want to go. 

"Most people don't bite," Renly said. 

“I didn’t mean to do that. You’re not Theon.”

“You want to fuck him?”

“I wanted to hurt him."

Renly's hands held him tighter, almost like they were embracing. 

Robb pulled away. "I have to leave now." 

"Should we yell a little more to make sure Brienne and Guyard don't catch on? Might be awkward tomorrow."

"No I have to leave now. Leave King's Landing. My mother and sisters will see you crowned."

"Today?" 

"Yes, today. You're right, the North is falling apart without me there, and my people need me."

"But we don't have a treaty..." Renly was off the couch and reaching for a silken robe hung next to the window. "We need to work that out, don't we?" 

"No. I need to go govern at Winterfell, and you will stay here, and if you cross me again, we'll go to war. And you can't afford that, can you? You're the one who's not Stannis, you won't make the country bleed."

The look on Renly's face was part murder, part the stupid, open look on a deer's face before it was shot.

Robb picked up his cloak as he left. He didn't look back.


End file.
